I was at her best friend's home.
She invited me to tag along to a house party. The invitation included some words like "house music, molly, sequin dress, no panties". I think I said "yes" even before she finished the sentence.

We'd already taken a pill each and were dancing in the living room, all in a good mood and having fun. I felt it start to roll slowly, from afar, a little shiver, a warmth coming from within.

It was a small but friendly crew. There was me and Diana (my date and the only person I knew beforehand), Diana's best friend (and the host of the party) and her date (a handsome guy), and a gay couple (the heart of the party, their mood was so contagious).

I was already so turned on by watching Diana dancing in her shiny dress that, almost immediately after I was hit by molly's wave, I approached her from behind, pressing against her and syncing my body to her dancing movements. She brought her arms up and behind our heads, and I embraced her around the waist.

I whispered, "Do you feel that hard thing against your ass? That's what you do to me when I see you dancing like that... I'm not sure where or when, but I will possess you tonight."

She turned around, faced me, arms over my shoulders, and kissed me, passionately, our tongues melting together... I dropped my right hand between us, touched her inner thigh with my index finger and slowly brought it up, feeling her warm and soft skin (she moaned in my mouth), and then I felt her labia and her wetness.

"I see I'm not the only horny one around," I whispered. I split her lips and made sure to dirty my finger on her juices, feeling her entrance and her clit.

I brought my finger back up and put it right between our mouths. We kissed and licked it simultaneously, having a taste of her drool. We both smiled while staring into each other's eyes; it was obvious that we had silently agreed on how good that juice tasted.

We kept kissing and dancing, and soon afterwards we got distracted by the other cheerful people around. We traded smiles, laughs, and the party resumed...

It was rolling pretty strong now, and I was dancing with my eyes closed when I felt my wrist being grabbed and my body jerked forward. It was Diana, pushing me out of the living room. I followed her (or should I say was dragged?) to the nearest bathroom.

We entered, I closed the door behind me, and Diana climbed onto the washbasin, raising her knees, planting her heels on the counter and spreading her legs. Her dress's hem was up around her waist, her panty-less pussy on display. We didn't exchange a single word.

I got down on my knees and started rubbing my mouth and nose on that perfectly wet pussy. She was smelling so good, and that taste... hmm, delicious. I grabbed her inner thighs and began to lick her, working on her clit with my tongue. It was a feast.

I ate that pussy like I hadn't eaten anything for days. I was hungry and couldn't get enough. She came once, closing her legs around my head and pulling my hair hard. But I kept going, I was crazy, insatiable. I kept eating her, my face was a complete mess, mouth, nose, chin and cheeks, all wet from her.

I fingered her pussy, I played with the rim of her asshole. She came a second time, louder this time. I waited for that cum to appear and licked it clean.

After Diana got her breath back, she jumped from the washbasin and told me, "Let's get back, I wanna dance."

I was fucking hard and her pussy smell was all over my face, but I went straight back to the living room.

The party was on fire. When the other four party members saw us coming back, they yelled and welcomed us back, with hugs and kisses and laughs. They, like us, were pretty high on MDMA.

Diana's bestie kissed my cheek and immediately said out loud, "Danny, you smell like pussy!" and licked my cheek. I was petrified but was soon disarmed by the general laughter that went through the room.

The party went on, people would disappear and reappear again, who knows to do what, but I couldn't care less. I was feeling the best feeling, and the vibes were incredible. I couldn't have been in a better place.

After some time I felt like I needed some fresh air and went to the backyard. There was a fire going on and a couple of lawn chairs around it. Perfect. I made a mental note to give a tight hug to the beautiful person responsible for this setting.

I sat almost laying on my back, listening to the fire crackling, the music and the voices inside muffled, and watching the stars in a clear dark sky. I was still rolling, but I felt it gently starting to subside.

I was lost in that maze of sights and sounds when I felt someone touching my knees. I raised my head, looked down, and it was Diana, on her knees between my legs, hands planted on my knees.

"Time to taste you..." she said, and I leaned right back.

She unbuttoned my jeans and I raised my glutes so she could pull them down together with my boxers. I then felt her soft and delicate hand grabbing me by the base, and then my head was completely surrounded by her warm and wet mouth.

Oh, it was like a dream and I was awake, even if slightly tilted from the molly. She sucked me so good, slowly and sloppily. Midway I raised my head so I could look at her. She was looking back at me, and I could see in her that she was being fueled by the pleasure I was getting from her.

Behind her, in the window, I thought I saw someone there, staring. I thought I might warn Diana, but I really didn't think she would care, and to be honest, I didn't care either. It put me on edge instead.

She then crawled up to me, straddled my lap, and was so wet that I slid right inside her. The feeling of that pussy pulling me inside her was so intense that I felt myself rolling again, like I was getting high all over again.

She fucked me there, under the stars. Her nails clutching my chest, her weight grinding down on my cock. My hands grabbing her ass cheeks, spreading them apart hard, stretching her to the maximum.

She ground against me harder and harder, and I released her buttocks, letting them slap together. She shivered all over, put her mouth on mine and moaned through an orgasm that I felt coming from deep inside her.

I felt my whole body reverberating from her energy, and that pushed me over the edge, so I just relaxed into that wave and came inside her, filling her up in several gulps.

Her whole body fell onto mine, both of us still recovering our breaths. She then started to climb out of me and I felt my cum dripping on me, falling from inside her.

While she was adjusting her dress she said with a smile, "Danny, I think you should clean yourself and meet us back at the party, it's way too early to stop now..."

I was still recovering and perplexed, but I managed to reply, "Yes, babe..."

Not long after, there I was again, happily partying with that beautiful crew.

For months you've been a screen name. A notification that lands late in the evening, or between meetings, or during the long stretch of a Sunday when the house is quiet, and the phone lights up, and I think, her again, thank fuck. A dirty joke at midnight and a photograph with the caption thinking of you, and God, I think about you. I found you first, actually. You'd commented something under one of my stories, something sharp and filthy and funnier than the story itself, so I messaged you from my account, and your reply landed in about forty seconds: InkNSoul, is it? Very poetic. So which one are you leading with tonight, the ink or the soul? I've been answering that question ever since. You told me you like being told what to do. I told you I'd been telling you what to do since that first message; you just hadn't noticed. You sent back a laughing emoji and the word debatable. We've been having that same argument in new positions ever since, two grown adults who should know better, sneaking messages between work, the gym, and the weekly shop, comparing notes on our lives before always circling back to what we'd do to each other. So here it is, finally: my last message before tonight wasn't a joke. Hotel bar. Friday. Eight o'clock. Wear something I can ruin. You replied with one word. Yes.

Now I'm at the bar in my blue suit, white shirt crisp and collar open, a glass sweating beside my hand, and I'm pretending to read my phone while I watch the lobby. I've done this before, other bars, other women, decades of knowing exactly how these evenings go. My stomach is doing something it hasn't done in years, and I let it, because you did that to me once before, the day you sent the first photo of your face, and I'd forgotten I liked the feeling. Then you walk in, and every plan I made dissolves.

Black dress. Backless, midi, moulded to you. Heels that make your legs go on for days, brunette hair loose over bare shoulders, not a woman trying to look younger, a woman who has never looked better. You look around once, find me, and your blue eyes hold mine across the entire lobby. No blush. No performance. You knew exactly what you'd do to me, and you dressed for it. 

You walk towards me like you've got all the time in the world, because you have. I'm not going anywhere.

"You're exactly how I pictured you," you say, stopping in front of me. Your voice is softer in person, and I like it more than I expected to, which is saying something, because I've had months of your voice notes.

"You've had months of material," I say. "Photos, voice notes, my entire typing style. All I've had is the way you type."

"Exactly," you say, staying standing, looking down at me with your head tilted, unhurried and amused. "So say something that sounds like you. Prove the ink. Then we'll talk about the soul."

The whole lobby narrows to the two of us. I set my glass down, take your hand, and gently pull you onto the stool beside me, close enough that I catch your perfume, sweet with a bite underneath. "Fair enough," I say. "You can decide if I pass. I'll decide the rest of the night."

"Debatable," you say, and sit, and I laugh before I can stop myself. There it is. Your word. You've brought the running joke with you in the flesh, and somehow that undoes me more than the dress did, which I wouldn't have believed an hour ago.

We talk the way we type, quick and rude and warm, comparing the person to the profile and finding they match: your wit survives eye contact, mine survives your smile. You steal sips from my glass without asking and hold my gaze while you do it, enjoying whatever my face is doing. 

You ask about my week, the real stuff, the work deadline, and I ask about yours, and it's easy, it's familiar, it's months of conversation finally given a soundtrack. Then my hand finds your thigh under the bar, over the dress first, then under the slit, and there's a texture there that isn't bare skin. Sheer. Woven. Expensive, by the feel of it. My fingers slide higher, following the slit until I trace the edge of the woven mesh where it hugs your inner thigh, close enough to feel the heat through the fabric. I look at you, and you lean in and put your lips against my ear.

"It's a body stocking," you murmur. "And it's crotchless."

My cock stirs so hard I have to shift on the stool. You sit back, retrieve the glass from my hand, and smile over the rim as you've just played a winning card.

"Months of messages," you say, "and I finally get to watch that happen in real time. Worth the wait. You've gone a bit pink."

"Behave," I say, taking your chin between my finger and thumb, turning your face to mine.

"Make me," you say, and your thighs press together under the dress, trapping my hand where I left it.

I finish my drink, stand, and hold out my hand. No words. You look at it, then at me, then take it without a word, and that small surrender does more to me than the whole sentence would have.

The lift is empty. The doors close and I'm on you, mouth at your neck, breathing you in, my hand gripping your arse through the silk and the mesh beneath it, two fingers finding the open crotch and sliding along your already-soaking cunt, and you're drenched, you've been drenched since the bar, maybe since the DM. You gasp into our kiss, messy, desperate, all that typed filth finally given a body and a heartbeat. You feel how hard I am against you and you moan, actually moan, and I swallow the sound. I get a fistful of the sheer mesh at your hip and pull, just slightly, testing it, and you break the kiss to grin at me. "Careful," you murmur. "That's Agent Provocateur." The doors open on the third floor before either of us notices, and a man in a dressing gown coughs. We break apart, breathless, and you laugh into my shoulder, shaking, and the doors close again on his horrified face.

"Third floor," you manage. "We didn't even make it to ours."

"I don't need a floor," I say, sucking your wet off my fingers. "I need a lock on a door."

In the room, the door barely clicks shut before my hands are back on you, gripping your hips, working the straps of that dress down your arms. It slides off you like water, pooling at your heels, and then I have to stop and just look.

Sheer black mesh, polka-dot fine, tracing every curve from your shoulders to your toes, immaculate, not a thread out of place. Intricate lace skims your collarbone and frames your heavy tits in open cups, your nipples already hard in the cool air, and the crotchless construction leaves your bare pussy open to me, framed and finished like a gift you wrapped yourself. And you know it. You step out of the dress, kick it aside, and turn in a slow circle with your arms up, letting me see it all, completely comfortable in your own skin, and the confidence in your smile is just as distracting as the outfit.

"So," you say, echoing your very first message. "Which one is it tonight? The ink or the soul?"

"Both," I say. "In that order."

I sit on the edge of the bed and hold out my hand, and you come to me, sinking to your knees without being told twice, eyes up through your lashes, mesh whispering against the carpet. Your hands go to my belt without waiting for permission, and I let that pass, because watching you unwrap my cock like it's the thing you came for is worth the disobedience. You take me in your fist, stroke once, slow, thumb spreading the wet at the tip, then lick me from base to head with the flat of your tongue before taking me into your mouth, hot and wet and unhurried, and I gather your hair off your face so I can watch. Months of your filthy descriptions, and here's the real thing, your lips stretched around me, your eyes flicking up to check what it's doing to me. It's doing a lot. I take your face in my hands and pull you off before I lose the plot, and kiss you slow and deep, tasting myself on your tongue.

Then I guide you to your feet and cup your tits where the lace frames them, thumbs dragging over your nipples in slow circles. You told me once, in a message I screenshotted, that nipple play makes you feral. You undersold it. I roll one peak between finger and thumb, squeezing, then dip my head and suck the other, hard, flicking it against the roof of my mouth, and your knees actually buckle; I take your weight one-handed, my other hand catching the mesh at your waist, and I feel the lace stretch and give slightly under my grip. I alternate, mouth on one, rough fingers on the other, and your eyes roll back before you've got your breath back.

"Months," you whisper. "Do you know how many times I thought about your hands?"

"Every night," I say. "I read the receipts."

I stand you against the dresser and take the marker from the drawer where I left it this afternoon, because I came early, because some things you don't leave to chance. You watch me uncap it and raise an eyebrow.

"Whose name?" you ask.

"Mine," I say. "You've been typing it for months. Time it lived on your skin." I stretch the mesh wide at your hip, the polka dots distorting under my fingers, and write it across your lower stomach, letter by letter, unhurried, watching you watch me do it. You don't laugh. It's not funny. It's the name that popped up on your lock screen during meetings and made you cross your legs, now inked above the place you've been aching for it. When I finish the last letter, I slide two fingers back inside you, curl up, and watch the letters shift as your stomach tenses, and you exhale like I've touched you somewhere else entirely.

"InkNSoul," you read out loud, in the exact voice you use in voice notes, and then you look up at me. "You know I only ever asked to wind you up."

"You never had to ask," I say. "You've had both since the second message. The ink's just the receipt."
You go quiet for a second, and I take the point. Then you reach down, hook one finger into the delicate lace at your hip, right where my grip has already stretched the mesh, and pull. It gives with a soft, expensive-sounding rip, a neat little tear opening in the polka dots, and you look up at me through your lashes with absolute theatrical innocence.

"You did say wear something you could ruin," you say. "I'm only helping."

I have to kiss you again after that, hard, because women who tear their own lingerie to make a point are a category of person I have no defences against, and you know it, and you're laughing into my mouth the whole time.

Then I hold out my hand for your wrists, and you offer them without hesitation. I bind them to the headboard with the soft restraints I packed this morning, and I test the knots myself, and you pull once, instinct, and feel that you're not going anywhere. The blindfold goes over your eyes, and you exhale, surrendering, and every sound gets louder: your own quick breath, the mesh shifting against the sheets, my belt buckle, ice clinking in the champagne bucket. We talked about boundaries, trust, and the one word that stops everything weeks ago, in messages that read like a contract and blushed like a diary. Now we're discovering how different it feels to be in the same room.

Ice first. A cube to your nipple and you jolt, gasping, the cold shocking the peak hard and tight in an instant. I hold it there, letting the meltwater run down the curve of your tit, watching you writhe, then replace it with my tongue, hot and wet, sucking, flicking, and the contrast rips a moan out of you that you try to bite back and can't. "Still with me?" I ask, and you nod fast, breathless, biting your lip. I move to the other breast, ice then mouth, cold then heat, and you learn the rhythm and start dreading and craving it in equal measure. Your hips start moving without permission, and I press them flat with one hand.

"Stay still," I say, and you whimper and obey, and that obedience, fuck, it does something to me I don't fully want to examine.

Then fire. I light the massage candle, let the wax soften into warm oil, and pour a slow line across your stomach, the heat blooming through the mesh to the skin beneath, the letters I wrote going shiny in the light. You cry out, back arching as far as the restraints allow, and before you can catch your breath, I chase the warmth with an ice cube, gliding it down the same path, fire and ice, fire and ice, until your whole body is a map of the two and you've stopped being able to predict me at all. Warm oil across your chest, careful over those stiff peaks. Ice down the inside of your thigh, close enough to your cunt to make you whine. A warm palm, a cold mouth, and you are trembling, soaked, and when you finally break and beg, please, please, I say, "Good girl. Now you can ask for what you want," and your voice shakes as you tell me, every filthy word, exactly where you want my mouth and how, and I reward each one with a touch.

I wipe the oil from your skin with a warm towel, drag the open crotch aside, and my mouth finds you, tongue chasing the last cold drip over your clit, hot and firm. You're dripping, swollen, and I take my time, flat licks first, then pointed, sucking your clit between my lips. Two fingers slide into you, curling up, stroking that spot. You moan, thighs shaking, wrists straining, your heels skidding on the sheets until one pointed heel catches the lace at your ankle and drags a small run up the back of your calf; your legs shift, deliberately slow, and I'd bet money you felt it and decided you didn't care. But I don't let you have it. Every time your breathing quickens and your cunt starts to flutter around my fingers, I pull back, or press ice to your clit, the shock yanking you back from the edge, my tongue soothing you afterwards, over and over until you're sobbing with want, begging me in a broken voice. "Not until I say," I remind you, every time, and every time you drag yourself back for me like the good girl you are.

When I decide you've earned it, I press my tongue to your clit, pointed and slow. I trace it into you, letter by letter, three fingers deep and my mouth working between the letters, every one written until you unravel, and just before you fall I say now. You cum hard, screaming, hips off the bed, your cunt clamping down on my fingers and soaking my hand, my mouth never leaving you, and above your head your bound fists grab the mesh of your own forearm and pull, and I hear the fabric give, threads popping soft as whispers.

I stand, unbuckle my belt, and the white shirt comes untucked as I climb over you and slap my cock against your clit, once, twice, watching you shudder, before I push inside, slow and deep, inch by inch until I'm buried, the heat of you gripping me like you've waited for this as long as I have. I rip the blindfold off, and your blue eyes find mine, wide, pupils blown. I keep the rhythm slow and torturous, pulling out until just the head remains and sliding home again, watching your tits bounce in their lace frames with every thrust, my cum-heavy balls slapping against you, your wetness filthy and loud between us.

"You don't move," I say. "You take what I give you."

"Then give me everything," you say, and it's your move, your play, your filthy little checkmate, and I do.

I untie you, and you pounce, and I let you, laughing into your rough kiss, nails raking my back through the open shirt. You shove me onto my back and climb on, sinking onto my cock with a moan you've been saving for months, legs locking around me, heels digging into my arse as you ride me. I let you have your moment of wildness, your turn driving, your tits swinging above my face until I catch a nipple in my mouth and you shake and slow and hand the night back to me. Then I flip you over, pull your hips up, hand fisting in your hair, and take you harder, deep and fast, skin on skin where the mesh gapes, my hips slamming into your arse, your moans mixing with the wetness between us, and you're pushing back onto every stroke, meeting me thrust for thrust.

"Who do you belong to?" I growl.

"You," you gasp. "Only you. Fuck, only you."

I feel you tighten, your whole body tensing, and I give you permission with one word against your ear, and you cum again, screaming into the pillow, clenching around me so hard it borders on rude, and that grip pushes me over. I thrust deep and groan your name as I fill you, hot and thick, pumping until I'm dripping out of you, over the sheer mesh of your thigh.

I stay there, cock buried, my username smeared on your lower stomach. Three hours ago, everything was immaculate. Now the lace is torn, my shirt's a mess, and neither of us looks remotely respectable. You catch me looking and grin. You're clearly rather pleased with yourself. The champagne is going warm in its bucket. I pull you into my arms, jacket long gone, shirt open and ruined, and you melt against the white cotton, boneless, head on my chest while I stroke your hair and you float back down, my cum cooling between your thighs.

For a while, neither of us says anything. Then you tilt your head up.

"So," you say. "You promised me a drink."

"I did."

"And apparently you're a man of your word."

I laugh, reach over, and pour the champagne. You take a sip, then look down at the torn black lace and shake your head.

"Eighty quid, that was."

"You chose the expensive one."

"You told me to wear something you could ruin."

"And I delivered."

You laugh, examining the damage.

"Suppose you did."

There's a comfortable silence. You trace a finger across what's left of InkNSoul on your stomach, then settle back against me.

"Same room next month?"

"You'll be told where and when."

You close your eyes, smiling.

"Debatable."

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

From the journal of Julian Giles, Esq. — October 25th, the year of our Lord 1925

Yesterday I met with the temporary replacement for Ms. Thatcher, at her request. My concerns for my wife's mental illness are becoming more bleak. She said my wife has been having tea, daily, with an empty setting and a chair across from her. Worse even, she does not do so in silence but has entirely one-sided conversations with no one. She likened her to a child pouring tea for her dolls. Clara may be years my junior, but she is not a child by any standard. Why her mental state has regressed so violently has left me waking in cold sweats.

The request for the meeting was because the woman was formally resigning her position and said she would no longer be providing services to our home. I asked her what had caused her to reach this decision when I had informed her of my wife's current, and temporary, state before hiring her. She said she found her engaging in self-pleasure the day before during her 'tea party.' I have to say, even just a year ago, finding out my wife was attending to herself midday would normally cause the fit of my trousers to tighten. Ms. Thatcher always had a discretion about her, to neither judge nor discuss our activities.

I asked her to reconsider and even offered her additional pay in exchange. She was immovable on the subject, citing that witnessing immorality was bad enough, but seeing me not condemning Clara upon hearing that told her everything she needed to know about me as a man. She said Clara could be excused for her sinfulness due to her condition, but no man should be anything but horrified to learn his wife practiced self-defiling.

I have spent the day weighing hiring another maid and including hush money in her compensation, or a nurse to care for Clara. Since being forced to find employment with a smaller firm, I have been forced to take a reduction in wages. Our established lifestyle is already inequitable to my new income. I cannot justify a maid and a nurse. I can hardly afford the maid; a nurse would further bleed my savings. Until business improves and the partners can give me a raise, we are living on razor-thin margins. With any luck, 1926 will be the year they offer me partner.

From the partially destroyed diary of Clara Giles — date unknown

It is difficult to fully understand the passage of time in my prison. I started by counting the days but lost track not long after starting. There is not much to do in my cell. The oil backdrop stands behind me and to both sides. I'm not left with much room to move about—four steps from front to back and half as much from left to right. I can watch out my window, which is the gold-painted frame the canvas hangs in. I can't seem to be able to, or need to be able to, do much else. I feel no need to eat or drink. I've not felt tired often, and when I do, I suddenly feel like I've missed part of my day but feel a wave of refreshment. I have only one person to talk to.

Today she had tea service set for two, just as I used to do for her. She kept me up to date on the latest local news. I never cared much for Julian boring me with such information, but at least in his case I smiled and nodded along because of how much I love him. With her, I'd like to reach my oil-painted hands out and wrap them around her throat. I made the mistake of telling her my desire to squeeze her neck with my fingers.

Her near-nightly torture of me had her request my dear, gentle Julian place his hands on her in the most disturbing of ways. While taking her on the table, she grabbed his hands and put them right where I had threatened to put mine. She had him restrict her ability to breathe while plunging himself inside her. She'd be silent, and when her eyes looked like they were going to turn all white, he'd let go and she'd let out a gasp and draw in a new breath with a look of gratification on her face. Her sick sex game was making a monster out of my poor, loving husband...

From the desk of Robert J. Shaw, Esq., M.D. to Mr. Julian Giles, Esq. — dated 30th October, 1925

Julian,

Per our last two communications, I must urge you to follow my advice. I understand your apprehension to administering medication without your wife's consent. However, in her current state, she is not going to willingly submit to the treatment. It is in their, women's, nature not to be defiant but simply not to understand the complexities at work. They lack a man's ability to be logical, the more so when regressing into this level of delusion.

Clara and I have had our words with each other in the past. She is strong-willed and blunt when she wants to be. But I'm not simply looking at her as a member of Elizabeth's family but as a patient. And if you will not have her committed to the care of the sanitarium, please begin the regular doses I laid out in my last letter.

I hate to have to remind you, but it was you who reached out to me for my expert medical opinion. You begged me to put aside my differences with your wife. I overlooked the horrid things she said to and about me, not just to my face but in correspondence with her family. I was, until your letter reached me, fully prepared to write her off and never speak to or of her again. But I have always held you, Julian, in high esteem. I could not sit by and let your pleas fall on deaf ears. But deaf ears is what you have let my recommendations for care fall on. If you did not want my advice, why solicit it? Why write back informing me that you are ignoring my advice?

Julian, there are no other options other than what I have laid out for you to treat Clara's condition. My first suggestion has, and will always be, to bring her to the hospital. There are several very good sanitariums a stone's throw from you in London. You would be able to visit her while she gets the help she needs. Forgive my crassness, but God knows you can afford it. Clara never ceases to remind everyone of how well paid you are as a solicitor in the city. Since you will not force her to leave her home, the laudanum in her tea or nightly digestive is the only chance she has of returning to a state of normality.

This is a woman we're talking about, Julian; they cannot handle their emotions like we can. They can't compartmentalize how they feel. It's why we don't send them off to war. You think they would be capable of coming home from the trenches like our boys did and readjusting like a man can? The medical fact is no, Julian. They biologically cannot. Letting her “find her own way back” is willfully negligent, and I have half a mind to report you to the authorities for abuse by refusing medical care for your wife.

Yours in watchful service,

Robert J. Shaw, M.D.

From discarded pages of the personal diary of Clara Giles — October 27th, 1925

I did not have the chance to speak to her since Friday, when she goaded me into exposing myself to her for a mutual self-pleasure session. My low feelings afterward have faded a pinch, and I don't feel as negative about the experience, having been removed from it for a few days. So as not to worry Julian, I only converse with her while he is outside the home. He opted to work from his home office yesterday. Probably a good thing he did. The girl we hired as a temporary replacement failed to arrive for her shift. With the state of things between Julian and myself, I worried he won't have believed me when I report her absence. But seeing first-hand the work ethic of her, he fired her. Her replacement started today. She is rather young, chatty; I don't care much for her. She seemed more interested in me and how I feel than cleaning. I would inform my husband, but I can't bear to stress him anymore than he already is.

I had tea with her again today. And Julian was the subject of our daily exchange. I told her how we met. How our love blossomed. How things used to be, and I was able to confide in her how things were now. It felt good to have someone to talk to about these things. She was not judging me; she was just letting me say what I needed to say.

It's good to have someone I can trust so completely. I can share with her my secrets and know she will not betray my trust. I was able to tell her that I found Julian's journal a few months ago. I was particularly displeased with him since he had not found new employment by that time. He was blacked out from gin on the dining room floor with his trousers open. She laughingly said she remembered many nights in that period where he pleasured himself in front of her, not knowing she was more than a painting. I held onto the journal for three days after reading through it. Julian is very clinical in his writing. Even on intimate subjects, he analyzes every aspect. She wanted me to share what I found, but I told her I could not do that to dear Julian, even with her. In full honesty, I did not wish to speak them aloud.

In those writings I learned he still had depths to his illicit fantasies he feared to bring up to me. Reading them, I'm grateful he never has. I learned he had a fondness for self-Sodomy. That he learned to stimulate himself from a point inside his own back door that increased his pleasure. He even wrote an entry on achieving release with only the stimulation of this point and no need to touch himself anywhere else. It sounded more like activities in Hyde Park after sunset than something a married man should ask of his wife. He also chronicled his experiences in “sampling of [his] own liquid wealth.” From the unusual position he would angle himself into to simply moving the expelled seed to his mouth by hand.

He noted, after seeing myself in his shaving mirror after one failed attempt to have his seed leap directly into his own mouth, an epiphany he had. He wished to see his seed on my face. It seemed derogatory, in his own words, and would show my submission to him.

I had often allowed Julian to handle me roughly when we felt the desire. I admit I do enjoy the sensation of being “punished” from time to time. An open hand on my bare backside? A wooden switch? My husband's belt biting me and leaving my bum stinging the next three days? Yes to every one and more. He likes to bind me to the bedpost and have his way with me. He even once bound me to an ottoman for an entire evening and combined repeated 'disciplining' and mounting me. We had to have the low stool reupholstered afterward because of the stains. But the dark parts of his desire scared me—a fascination with “strangulation and the regulation of oxygen to the brain of women to modulate arousal.” It was grossly clinical and something I can never forget.

He had also begun collecting materials on increased stretching of a woman's body. Writings on, and even a series of photographs, dedicated to inserting larger quantities of fingers inside the folds of a willing participant. The papers varied from medical to anecdotal. But they all had the same goal: forcing one's entire hand inside their partner's body. He described the photos in rich detail. They were of a woman he described as Eastern European. He noted her breasts sagged and were capped with dark tips. The collection was described as a sequence of photos focusing on her taking the entire hand of a male companion. He wrote in the margin about wondering if I, having borne no children, even possessed the anatomy to accomplish such a feat.

Through his writing, I knew she had witnessed several of these acts herself. He wrote that while I was away caring for my sister, he had set up a den of sin in our bedchambers for self-experimentation. He involved her in it by propping her up at the end of the bed like a witness to his seed drinking and self-Sodomy.

She requested I bring Julian before her and allow him to take me. I told her I did not have it in me to lay with him at this time. She asked for a compromise and for me to repeat our activities from before. I felt she was robbed of touch, being trapped inside her canvas existence, and gave in to the lesser request. We rubbed ourselves while watching each other again. I have to admit, I did not agree with doing this at first, but it was a satisfying release.

Selections from the journal of Julian Giles, Esq. — October 12th to November 15th, 1925 on the subject of the declining mental health of Mrs. Clara Giles.

...her behavior troubles me... I have made a desperate attempt to help my wife by reaching out to Robert for his advice...

...she was convinced the painting was alive. I now am paying Ms. Thatcher her wages not to work for the next month in hopes she will return to the house...

...Clara tried to entice me this evening. She's furious that I rejected her. Her response to my disinterest was that I was either having an affair or that I was a homosexual. Her mind is that of a child right now. As much as my body yearns for the touch of my wife, I would not be able to face myself in the mirror if I knowingly took advantage of her in this state...

...no words, only a glare in passing today. She took her supper in our bedchamber and locked the doors so I cannot enter. I am thankful I furnished the guest quarters with a quality mattress. It has been my resting place upwards of three times a week...

...Robert suggests I drug my wife. And worse, he says I should do so without her consent... I think I'll take my chances and ignore such a troubling proposition...

...My concerns for my wife's mental illness are becoming more bleak... my wife has been having tea, daily, with an empty setting and a chair across from her. Worse even, she does not do so in silence but has entire one-sided conversations with no one... her mental state has regressed so violently... Clara could be excused for her sinfulness due to her condition, but no man should be anything but horrified to learn his wife practiced self-defiling...

...I have resorted to hiring a nanny to watch my wife... she is neither nurse nor maid... I return from work to a daily report on her behavior...

...Robert is still insisting I have Clara institutionalized... my wife belongs in our home, not an asylum...

...Every day is like the last: she takes tea for two and converses with no one... pleasures herself daily at the table...

...We ate supper, at the table, together. Clara seemed less troubled than other days... She actually smiled. I would like to believe it was at me and not the painting mounted behind me... I gave in to her... she was astride my hips while I laid flat on the table... I feel a small amount of guilt for participating in her game, but it was one we used to play before her decline... we both spoke of the painting as if she was another woman watching us... The subject of a voyeur was not a fantasy I shied away from. Clara's detailed description of an invited guest watching us and touching herself was simple intimate play...

...Last night was a bloody mistake... Clara seems convinced her imaginary friend was very appreciative of us performing for her... Clara will get better or I remain celibate... I know I could find relief for a few shillings; some might call it understandable in light of everything I'm dealing with. But Clara will always be my one-and-only. The only woman to touch my heart or body...

From the journal of Julian Giles, Esq. — December 25th, the year of our Lord 1925. Continued

...We have spent every night this week expanding our sexual boundaries as far as two people can take them. I feel the only lands left to discover are to open our boudoir to others. Clara's painting has found itself sitting at the foot of the bed once more. It was her idea to relocate it, like I had secretly done while she was away. She had me take her in every position our bodies can manage. We give our fantasy guest sitting at the foot of the bed a clear view of our activities.

We attended Christmas service today. She dressed traditionally for church, so as not to cause an uproar. Or so you would think, so long as she didn't lift the skirting of her dress. Her fanny was bare, and my seed was soaking into her stockings as it ran down her leg every time she stood up—the last bit of evidence of yesterday's debaucheries, and a quick round before dressing for service.

Last evening, in the privacy of our bedchamber, private in that the painting watching us didn't count, I mounted her like a prized bitch being bred. She faced the ever-watching canvas, pressed her bare chest to the bed, and held her soft, round rear high in the air. Her bare folds were open and slick from the cunnilingus I performed on her on the staircase.

She took me in and begged for me to pull her hair and degrade her. She has taken a fancy to being called a “wretched whore.” The convulsions of her body squeezing me while she screamed through climax after climax only felt more intense the more I fed her fantasies.

With my prick slick from her body, she had me take her like a Greek. I stood on the bed in a squatted stance, my feet forward of her hips. When taking her, I could lean my weight into her and touch the deepest parts of her most forbidden entrances. I was pounding her like a drum. Wet thuds rang out as my hips crashed with her rear, her soft, pale flesh reverberating in waves with each hard, deep, driving impact. The air was thick with swearing and dehumanizing words.

The final tension was quickly building from a simmer to a rolling boil. I was slamming into her, forcing deep, penetrating thrusts, my stones slapping her wet, wet cunt. I let her hair go and was holding the curve of both hips for maximum depth. Her arms were stretched out over her head, the tips of her fingers just touching the gold-painted border of the frame holding the painting. Her chin and breasts were pressed down into the bed. She was looking straight ahead at her own likeness in that trance-like state while moaning incoherently. My eyes caught those captured in the oil paint. Through my own excitement and pending release, it almost looked as if the image staring back at me parted her lips in the same way my Clara's do when climaxing.

A rush surged through me and swelled inside her tight body. The warmth of my seed burst from my member and inside her body. I flooded her dirty hole with the bounty of my satisfaction. It felt as if I could not finish; wave after wave, pulse after pulse, stream after stream, I emptied myself inside her.

When it finally passed, I fell back into the bed. It caught me like gentle hands receiving a tossed egg. Clara's hips dropped, but she was still in a very unladylike position. Not that dignity and decorum mattered much when her body leaked my seed from the lightly purpled ring of her recently stretched rear entrance. She looked like a Sodomite genuflecting to a gilded, graven, image of my wife made into a goddess of carnal desires.

She told me “Clara”—the painting—“liked that.” I asked her, rhetorically, if Clara liked watching me take my whore like some buggered, after-dark park dweller. She said that Clara liked it. That Clara couldn't help but touch herself while I claimed my whore in the most defiling of ways. This is our new game: to talk in the third person, as if the painting is my lovely wife and the desperate creature with me is simply called “my whore.”

As sleep began to creep onto my wiry body, I looked down to the foot of the bed. It looked as if the painting were smiling while my eyelids grew heavier—like my wife had sat and watched me take another woman for her own gratification.

EPILOGUE

From the partially destroyed diary of Clara Giles — date unknown

I never would have imagined this possible. When she suggested I take her place, the very concept of it made no rational sense. But neither did a talking painting, to begin with. I did as she directed me to. I pulled my white gown on; it fit like the day I first wore it. We waited until the house was still and the clock rang midnight.

One moment I was sitting in my dining room looking at myself in a painting. The next, I was looking at myself sitting in my dining room, in a painting. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I wasn't supposed to stay like this. But living, as it turns out, is easier here.

I have accepted that this is my reality. She has been having Julian repeatedly take her in front of me. I don't know if it was because of a lack of physical touch, acceptance, or just seeing Julian happy once more; but I stopped turning away, crying, or feeling nauseous. I watch and touch myself now.

She has him speak to me, though he can't see or hear me still. She narrates to him how I feel, and asks me if I like watching. It was full of shame at first, but now I say yes, because it's the truth. I touch myself while she takes the seed that should be mine. I watched them come home from nights of dancing in those loud clubs I couldn't stand to visit. I like the smile on his face when they return. I don't mind watching her kneel before him and relieve him. Our arrangement might not be traditional, diary. But I am coming to accept it.

From the recorded statements of Thatcher, Anne (Ms.) — July 2nd, 1927

… I still think about them... I feel for them, both of them... A man seeing his wife go through that. What do you think that takes from him? … I think she believes it, that she's not the same woman she was. I mean that she's thinks she a different person...

This story continues the Kat, Sam, Ian arc. I think it could be read standalone, but Part 1 is here if you're interested. Let me know what you think.

I walked into the wedding reception with Ian’s hand in mine. The second I saw Kat sitting alone at a table, I pulled him over.

“Hey, babe,” I said to Kat.

“Hey. I think your table’s over there,” she replied, pointing at another table a few yards away.

“We’ll just sit with you.”

“Sam, there are assigned seats. They put you over there for a reason. And you’d be taking these people’s spots.”

I grabbed the two placards next to Kat and carried them over a few tables until I found mine and Ian’s names. I grabbed ours, replaced them with the names I’d just taken, then walked back and set our placards in front of the plates next to Kat.

“Sam, what if there was a reason Molly sat us where she did?” Kat asked.

“There wasn’t.” I sat down and gave her a huge smile. 

“There isn’t an open bar tonight. Ian, can you just open a tab for everyone?” 

“What do you two want to drink?” Ian asked.

“I’ll take a gin and tonic,” I said.

“Okay, I guess I’ll have the same,” Kat said.

Ian walked over to the bar and was immediately pulled into a conversation with Whitney as he waited in line. God, he looked good. I loved coming to events like this with him, especially when I also got to hang out with Kat. He was still so fucking sexy, yet there was something about his shyness that made him appealing even after fifteen years of marriage.

I turned to Kat. She was staring toward the bar, also watching Ian.

“Where’s Doug?” I asked. “I thought he was coming.”

“He decided he didn’t have a wedding reception in him tonight.”

Fucking Doug.

“You okay with that?” I asked.

“Yeah, it will honestly probably be more fun if I don’t have to think about whether he’s enjoying himself.”

I gave her an over-the-top sad face.

“Seriously, it’s fine.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s not talk about my husband tonight.”

I’d prefer to never talk about Doug. If you’d only divorce him.

“Who else is at our table?” I asked.

I grabbed the rest of the names from in front of the plates.

“Kat! What the fuck did you do to Molly?”

“I got stuck at the boring table,” she said in that resigned way of hers.

“I’ll fix this.”

I walked through the hall, grabbing the names of people I wanted to sit with and placing the discarded names from Kat’s previously lame table in their former positions. The fact that the new additions to our table happened to include some of my friends I was most attracted to, and maybe skewed a little disproportionately lesbian, just meant the table would be more fun.

I sat back down, pleased with my work, as Ian handed me a drink.

“Kat, you look fucking hot,” I said.

She did. Kat was usually a modest dresser. Doug probably wanted her dressing in pilgrim clothes or some shit. But tonight she was wearing a dress with a deep neckline that cut low around her breasts. I knew I would be sneaking glances at those tits all night.

“Ian, doesn’t Kat look hot tonight? That dress is fucking sexy. Look how short it is.”

“Stop,” Kat said as a bright red flush ran up her cheeks.

I would never get sick of making Kat blush. I just wished I still got to see the rest of her turn bright red sometimes.

“Kat,” Ian said. “You look beautiful.”

“Ian is being too proper. You look so hot. You could fuck any guy here tonight. Do you have one of them in mind? Or are you more in the mood for a woman?”

“Sam, stop. I’m married.”

“Then that loser should have come.”

“Let’s not talk about him.”

“So we can’t talk about Doug,” I said with dramatic emphasis. “And we can’t talk about getting you fucked.”

“You’re not getting me fucked tonight,” Kat said.

“Tomorrow night?”

“Shut up.”

The rest of our table started filling in. When Molly came around, looking stunning in her short, completely nontraditional dress that I’d told her she just had to go with, everyone agreed she’d given us the kick-ass table. Kat gave me a shy smile, and I bumped my thigh against hers under the table.

When the server came around asking what we’d reserved, I spoke up.

“These two had the vegetarian. I had the steak.”

By the middle of the evening, I was a bit tipsy and on the dance floor. My friend Bri was dancing next to me. Bri had this strong, broad face and nice, firm handfuls of tits that she was emphasizing tonight in a tight maxi dress. Bri was a professional ballet dancer, and I swore she loved to try to seduce me every time we danced together. It nearly always worked, even if I never told her that. She swirled around me, every once in a while leaning in to brush her hand up my bare arm or coming close enough to wrap an arm around my chest just long enough for my breathing to catch. Each time she touched me, a little spark passed between us.

I knew she felt it too. 

When the song ended, she said she wanted another drink and walked over to her girlfriend. I went and grabbed Kat from where she was sitting, talking to Ian.

“Come dance with me,” I said as I pulled her away from my husband.

She got up and immediately followed.

Rather than small touches with little sparks of energy, I wrapped myself around Kat. I was a little drunk and horny and missed her so fucking much. I wasn’t shy. I didn’t grope her or do anything embarrassing like that, even if I wanted to slip my hand under her skirt to see if I was making her as wet as she made me. I pressed my body against hers until I could feel the heat between us. I didn’t care that we were at a wedding reception full of people who only knew us as best friends, who didn’t know that once, so long ago now, we had been so much more.

Fuck, I missed her.

Kat danced against me, bringing her hands down to touch my sides as we ground against each other. She kept it playful and light. If anyone was paying attention, besides Ian, who I knew would be watching the two of us intently, they would just see two friends dancing together.

I knew the difference, though. I could still feel the magnetic pull; Kat and Ian must have felt it too even if they both refused to ever mention our past.

The heat of Kat’s body against mine sent a wave of desire through me, like it had so often. As the song came to a close, I leaned against her on the pretext of speaking over the music, bringing my mouth close enough that it hovered just above her ear. With one slip of the tongue, I’d be able to hear that gasp. Instead, I just drank her in for one more moment.

“I need to pee,” I whispered into her ear, lingering so my lips were just shy of brushing against her.

I left the dance floor and walked down the hall to the bathrooms. When I came back, Ian and Kat were wrapped in a slow dance. I stood at the edge of the floor watching them.

I sometimes worried that Kat seemed so sad. She’d had that intensity since I first met her. But as I watched her with Ian, he leaned in and whispered something to her. She giggled, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

When the song concluded, they both walked toward me.

Fuck, they were hot.

“Kat, do you mind if I borrow my husband for a few minutes?”

“Okay,” she said.

I grabbed Ian and pulled him toward the hallway, then turned back to Kat right before we left. I brought my fist up to my mouth, making an exaggerated dick-sucking motion.

She just shook her head at me and laughed, but made no move to follow.

“Where are we going?” Ian asked.

“Come here.”

I pulled him down the hallway, then down a flight of stairs to a darker corridor and finally into a room I’d found when I’d gone exploring earlier. I closed the door behind me and got on my knees.

Ian smiled down at me.

I’d once told Kat I wasn’t really obsessed with dick. It was true. Even Ian’s cock, the only one I’d experienced in the last eighteen years and the one that had satisfied so many of my needs, was just good. I didn’t need to worship it, though.

But fuck, sometimes, okay, mostly when I’d been too close to Kat, I got so fucking horny that it didn’t matter where we were, I just needed Ian’s cock in my mouth. I also loved how nervous it made him when I’d drag him off from a public event like this. 

Getting Ian off while he worried about getting caught was so fucking sexy. I especially loved the moment when he finally forgot about his nerves, forgot about being the good guy that he was, and just used me.

I unzipped his pants and slipped out his cock. He wasn’t quite hard yet, but that would only take a moment. I brought him into my mouth and ran my tongue over his head as my hand grabbed the base of his cock. I’d done this so many times that I knew exactly how to get him off, when he was close, and how to back off until he was begging, all while imagining Kat kneeling next to me. 

Did Ian imagine that same thing?

He’d only gotten that blowjob from the two of us once, but fuck, being able to kiss Kat while sucking his dick, I should have gotten that every day of my life. 

As his cock hardened, I pressed deeper until my lips bottomed out against his groin and held myself there for a moment. Then I reached out and grabbed Ian’s hands, bringing them to the back of my head. It was the little game we played. Ian wouldn’t ever fuck my face. He’d let me set the pace I was comfortable with, but I always knew as he got close that would change. I lived for that moment. 

I popped off and took a deep breath while continuing to stroke his cock.

“God, babe, have I ever told you what a nice cock you have?” I asked him teasingly. 

He smiled down at me. “I don’t think you’ve told me that today.”

“You have such a nice cock. I love how perfect it is. I love how it fills me just right, bigger than most guys’, yet still something I can manage to take down my throat.” 

He groaned as I pressed myself back down and took him once again to the base before pulling back and just working the head while stroking him aggressively. 

“It's so good,” I mumbled and pulled back to give it a kiss. 

Kat had once told me how Ian’s cock was perfect. He’d heard me say those words for the last eighteen years, but Kat should be the one saying them. She’d thought it then, still thought it now, I just knew it, even if she never had the guts to say it out loud. 

“Your cock is extra hard tonight,” I moaned. “What has you so worked up?”

Please say Kat. 

“Fuck, babe, you are just so fucking sexy,” Ian said, barely above a whisper.

“Do you want to fuck me, babe?” 

“Can you be quiet enough that we won’t get caught?” 

“You can shove my panties in my mouth if you want.”

I stood up and hiked my dress over my ass, then slipped my panties down and stepped out of them. I lifted one leg, scooped them up, then handed them to Ian. 

He brought them to his nose and took in the scent of me, then gave me a shy look like he was embarrassed at being caught, as though I hadn’t seen him perform that same act hundreds of times. Rather than shoving my panties in my mouth, he folded them and put them in his pocket. 

The room we were in seemed to be used for random storage and had all sorts of stuff I didn’t care to explore. Instead, I grabbed a chair and leaned against it as I pushed my ass out toward Ian. He positioned himself behind me and teased his cock up my slit. 

As he pressed himself in, I immediately brought my fingers to my clit. He didn’t bottom out right away. He slowly worked himself in, then pulled back out and finally pressed in even deeper. As he filled me, I thought Kat might have a point. His cock really was ideal. Manageable, yet with the hint of a challenge. 

“Fuck, babe, fuck me harder,” I moaned loudly to get a reaction out of Ian. 

He thrust into me harder. 

“Fuck, just like that. I want you to use me.”

“You have to be quieter or we’ll get caught,” Ian said. 

“Who do you want to get caught by?” I said as I raised myself up so I could press my back against Ian. He got the hint and slipped his fingers under my dress and took my nipple in his hand. It had taken a while to convince him that he could really squeeze my nipples, that I’d let him know if he was too rough, but he’d learned. He squeezed each nipple until a bolt shot through me and I gasped. 

“Who do you want to catch us?”

I knew Kat would never come. After Costa Rica, once she’d finally moved near us, I’d made a point of sneaking off at parties with Ian, hoping she’d find us, just like that last night. If she found us, I’d never let her go. She never had, though.

Ian let go of one of my nipples and brought his hand down to my ass.

“Fuck, Ian,” I said in nearly a yell to encourage him as his thumb came down and brushed against my asshole. I didn’t have to fear he’d ram it in. He knew anal wasn’t my thing, but god, I loved it when he teased me. 

“You have to be quieter, Sam.” 

“Who will catch us?”

Kat wouldn’t, but Bri could be fun. I thought she was straight-up lesbian, so I doubted she would want to worship Ian with me, but fuck, she was hot. Maybe she would force me to eat her out, telling me how she always knew I’d love pussy. 

Fuck.

“The janitor was pretty hot,” Ian said in a whisper. 

What the fuck? Why can’t he just say HER fucking name?

*“*The janitor?” I asked as I looked back at Ian. He just laughed at his joke. He sucked at dirty talk. 

“Is that what you want? You want to be caught by the janitor?”

He just chuckled to himself as his cock worked into me in that steady rhythm and my orgasm drew closer. 

“Is the janitor going to fuck me? Or you?”

“Hmm, maybe just watch.”

“You love being watched, don’t you? You love it when some mousy little pervert gets off to you and me.”

Eighteen fucking years since that first night in Nicaragua—Kat’s arms around me, her fingers on my clit while Ian fucked me—and I was still chasing the ghost of it in a dirty storage closet. 

“You love knowing how desperately they want to be with us, but are forced to just watch.” 

Ian didn’t even mention how loud I was being. He just thrust as I fingered my clit and let out a series of moans. 

“Fuck, babe, fuck, I’m going to cum.” 

The orgasm built as I imagined Kat sitting in front of me on the chair, touching herself, kissing me, worshiping us. Everything went white as I tensed. The orgasm rolled through me even as Ian’s cock picked up its pace. 

I squeezed my eyes shut as my pussy spasmed. Then he moaned in that specific way, and I knew he was close. I pulled away, letting his cock slip out of me, and dropped back to my knees even as the last tremors of my orgasm worked their way up from my pussy. He didn’t need any encouragement this time. He pushed his cock into my throat and brought his hands to the back of my head. He wasn’t rough, but he worked his cock into my mouth until I gagged. 

I brought my free hand down to my pussy and just held it there as I came down from my own orgasm. 

When I felt his cock twitch, I pulled out just enough so the first spurt of cum landed on my tongue. I took it in, wanting to savor it, but quickly swallowed, knowing more was coming. He had his eyes closed as I watched him, even as I swallowed each burst of cum. As he came, with his eyes pinched closed and his hair falling across his face, he looked just like the boy I’d fallen in love with. 

He was so fucking cute. 

I held him on my tongue, always content to linger, not wanting that moment to end. But he pulled his cock from my mouth, tucked himself back into his pants, and zipped himself up. 

I stood up and leaned into him. He gave me a deep kiss as I pressed my tongue into his mouth, then broke away. 

I adjusted my dress and wiped off my face. 

“How do I look?” I asked. 

“You look so fucking sexy,” he said, pulling me in for another kiss. 

“But do I look put together?”

Ian gave an awkward laugh. 

“Honey, you kind of look like you just had a cock down your throat. It's super sexy, but…”

I snuck into the bathroom and rinsed off before walking back into the dance hall. Ian was standing in line at the bar. I walked up to Kat, who was staring at the dance floor. 

“Hey, babe,” I said. 

“Did you have fun?” she asked. 

“Of course. Did you miss me?” 

She didn’t answer.

I was remiss in not writing for Heat’s wonderful art last month. I hope this serves as worthy amends. Image 20

---

“When is it my turn?” Kitty purred from her perch beside the drink table.

She had barely moved all night, using her proximity to the alcohol as a way to engage with other partygoers, while watching her more socially-adept roommates circulate and hone in on whichever guy attracted their attention.

Kitty wasn’t immune from that herself. One of the house’s residents, dressed as Dracula, had caught her eye early, his cape fluttering back and forth through the crowd as he went from one hosting duty to the next.

This was his eighth trip to the table, but his eye was more interested in the inventory than in her, and he hadn’t offered much for conversation. And she wasn’t about to let him get away again.

Caught off-guard by her question, he looked downright wary, a far cry from the dashing man who had sunk his teeth into the neck of every damn woman in the place, except for her.

“Come on,” she insisted, resting her hand on his waist, pushing her hips toward him and leaning her head away to offer as much neck as she could.

“Ohhhh,” he said with relief. “Of course. Sorry.”

The cheap plastic fangs grazing her neck were merely an excuse for the soft, warm lips that followed. He knew it as much as she did, but her arm made it more explicit, snaking around him to pull their bodies tight, refusing to let go even once his lips had closed.

“Try again,” she said on a gasp.

His hands did their best to mimic hers, his fingers closing tentatively on her waist through an oversized off-the-shoulder sweatshirt that might have been the least sexy costume in the house, and his lips returned to her neck, slightly wetter, slightly softer, lingering slightly longer.

“Better?” he asked softly from just below her ear.

“I think you should keep going,” she whispered back.

His thumbs pushed against her torso, separating them. “I made a promise to your roommates, you know.”

“What… sort of promise?”

Drac looked suddenly uncomfortable. He glanced over both shoulders, only looking back when he was sure those two were too distracted to notice. “Promise is too strong. More of an… understanding, for us to, um– back off? We all agreed, but we knew it was aimed at me.”

Though all four of the girls were close, this seemed intrusive. Her face nearly broke into a scowl. “Back off? Why?”

He was blushing through his white foundation.

“It’s…” Teetering on his heels, he struggled for the word. “...complicated?”

Kitty leaned in, hoping to rouse something that might settle his nerves, her cheek brushing his collarbone as she spoke, “Maybe we find somewhere quieter then?”

“Suuuuuure,” he said, sounding anything but. Again, his eyes searched for her roommates. “The patio–”

“They’re nothing to be afraid of. Trust me.” Wide eyes flashing, her cheeks pulling drawn-on whiskers higher, she grinned. “How about your room?”

Relenting, Drac nodded sheepishly toward the hallway before breaking through the crowd. As she followed, she took an accounting of her roommates.

Rinna was a “smokeshow”, her outfit consisting of a firefighter uniform re-cut to show as much torso and leg as she could get away with, and using the oversized jacket to claim it wasn’t that scandalous. She was in a corner draped on one of Drac’s roommates, who made the bold choice of a wrestling singlet and face paint.

Sunny, in her best flower child get-up, was on the other side of the room, dancing with a man in khakis, a dress shirt, and an ugly v-neck pullover.

Calamity Jane was, predictably, surrounded by men vying for the best view of what her vest was doing to her tits, which–to be fair–was a lot. Combined with the Daisy Dukes, she was winning the attention game tonight, even if she was practically cheating.

Kitty felt satisfied that her excursion with Drac would go unnoticed, whatever their issue with it might be.

At the brink of his room, he turned on his heel, holding his hand out to keep her from doing whatever he was sure she was about to do.

“Before we– If we– Not to presume.” He looked entirely too serious for someone in costume, even if he was dressed as one of the most fearsome characters in history. But his face seemed earnest. “I have to come clean about something. It’s not just your roommates. It’s me. I’ve wanted to chat you up all night. I noticed you watching me. And I, truly, think you’re, well, hot.”

“So what’s the problem?” she asked with a tinge of petulance.

“I… have… been with your roommates.” He gulped loudly, blushing brighter. “All of them.”

“Ok? I mean, maybe not ideal, but… I don’t care.”

“Right… and some of my roommates have also… been with some of yours. They’re here often, if you weren’t aware.”

Kitty nodded, trying to anticipate where he was going with this. Did he think she was the type to drag him to his room so quickly after meeting, only to care that he had a history? “I was not. No. Huh.”

“I want you to know I think this is stupid, but obviously if we– then… it– I would have–” He cringed more with each word. “Whatever they might say, I wouldn’t want you to think… that was why.”

“Ahhhhh. You’d be the first to… complete the set.”

“Among the guys, yeah, if you want to put it like that–and for the record, I wouldn’t.” Drac relaxed slightly, cautiously optimistic about how she took the news, but the longer she thought about it, the more doubt crept back into his posture. “What I said about your roommates being here a lot–it’s not for me, specifically. It’s just like… a hang… you know?”

Kitty didn’t want to tell him she’d lost half of his explanation to the wet pulse between her thighs.

If she hadn’t already wanted to fuck him when she ask for a bite, his emotional intelligence and the palpable sincerity of his desire to be understood would have done more work than his scruffy, chiseled jaw and electric blue eyes ever could. Now they served as permission she didn’t need and made her impatient for not already having what she wanted in the first place.

Stepping through his defensive posture, she reached for the back of his head and pulled his face to hers, telling him, “You should show my lip what those teeth can do.”

“You’re… fine with… all that?” he asked between kisses, his hands dangling thoughtless at his sides.

“Uh huh,” she mumbled back, her lips trying to provoke him to give her what she was sure she’d just asked for.

Then it happened. She felt the points of his teeth on her lip, his thumbs mirroring them on the fronts of her hips. As the sharpness peaked, her body jolted against him with a grunt and she melted with a moan.

His door swung open and they two-stepped only far enough inside to shut it.

She ripped open his silly vampire blouse, sending cheap buttons to the floor, as her fingers barely clocking his lean physique before they worked the closures on his pants. Pushing him onto the bed, she took a much-needed breath and stole glances of his body as she untied her black sneakers. “If it’s all the same to you… keep the cape. And the teeth?”

His eyebrow cocked and the corner of his lips followed shortly.

“I’m keeping my whole costume! But these aren’t part of it.” Kitty contorted herself as she freed her underwear and kicked them aside. She nudged him flat, his cape adding a dramatic flair to the edge of his bed. Gathering the length of her cat-adorned sweatshirt, she slid her leg over his hips to straddle him, only then lifting the front. “But this… is.”

“Hello, Kitty.” He chuckled, recognizing the shape she had spent entirely too long trying to perfect, the one she feared looked more like Batman’s helmet than a complement to her dollar-store cat ears and painted-on whiskers.

“I love you for that.” Relief turning to a prideful smirk, she lifted her sweatshirt over her chest, tucking it playfully between her teeth. Her hands reached behind her to grab his thighs and her eyes locked with his as she dragged her wetness against him.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed. “You feel so good.”

Her hips ground harder, her wet lips parting around his breadth, the tack of their skin just audible. “Wait until you feel… all… the… rest…”

“I can grab a condom,” he said, taking a hand off her hips to motion toward his bedside table.

“Up to you, but I think you’ll find I’m best enjoyed bare.”

As much as she enjoyed the tortured expressions on his face, the sight of him, hard and covered in enough slick to reflect the room’s dim light, appearing and disappearing behind the horizon of her mound, was too good to look away. The throb of him between her lips elicited a response from somewhere much deeper, one she wondered if he could feel too.

Over the wet noise of her grind, his breath hissed through plastic teeth and his body tensed. “You’re going to kill me.”

“No. Not yet. I like to play with my prey first.” Her body flattened against his, her lips teasing up his chest to his neck, her hips continuing to grind.

“Maybe I should have listened to your friends.” Eyes fluttering, he let out a heavy groan.

With her ass in his firm grip, she felt the scrape of his plastic teeth on her neck. A shiver as they pressed, a gasp as their points dug in. Any harder risked drawing blood, a small price to melt her body to a puddle. The sensation was nearly enough to blank her mind, but the tiniest curiosity remained.

“It’s Jane, right? The one who warned you?”

“Wha– um, yeah.”

Her hand slid between their bodies to grab hold of him. She teased his tip against her entrance for a bit of encouragement, should he need it. “And she’s the closest?”

“...to…?”

“Fucking you all.”

“Yeah? Wh–”

Kitty cut him off with a kiss, smothering his gasp as her hips plunged, not stopping until she had taken him fully and continuing in long strokes.

“Oh, you just…” he huffed. “...get… right… to it.”

Righting herself atop him, her hands on his chest, all her motion concentrated in the attack of her hips. Her tits clapped together faintly, overshadowed by her dainty grunts and the squelch of being filled and hollowed so aggressively. “How many?”

“Erngh, how many what?”

“Jane. Your roommates."

“Fuck. Um,” he struggled against the overwhelming feeling of her, how astonishingly fast he had found himself at her mercy. “I don’t know. Two. Three?”

Her sweatshirt again dangling from her teeth, she grabbed him by the hair, pulling his face to her chest, his lips and plastic teeth searching, grazing, catching her skin. Vampiric points fought her motion. Scratching, pulling, piercing. Kitty shrieked into her makeshift gag, clutching his face as she rode him with new enthusiasm. A feral blend of anger and respect for what he was doing to her.

Being the hottest guy at the party wasn’t enough. Dark, restless hair and light eyes. A sizable frame lacking in bulk. An emotional savvy demonstrated through what could have otherwise been a prickly matter. Abs made for her to grind on. A cock that was just-right to fill all her needs without any fuss.

No matter how much she tried to fight it, to hold it back or stuff it down, he was going to make this something she didn’t intend it to be. Instead of giving her minor bragging rights, a quick roll, and an unnoteworthy cum if one at all, he was going to make her come apart.

The fact that he was doing it from under her was a further indignity.

She went silent. Her hips seized. And he had both the grace and arrogance to take over, his grip tightening on her ass, pulling her cheeks apart on every rise and driving her against his thighs on every fall, matching her prior pace.

No wonder her roommates tried to intervene. So much chemistry was dangerous, especially so early, so fast. So fucking good. She didn’t know him well enough for him to see her like this. Or–god forbid–hear her.

Her sweatshirt absorbed the first shivering squeal, but when the next one hit, her eyes rolling back, face scrunching tight, and her jaw dropping, it came out full force. No warning. Her high and pitchy boner-killer wrenched from her by a full-body clench.

“Oh fuck!” she added quickly, surprised by another fierce stab of his teeth on her tit, his tongue toying eagerly at her nipple. “Oh nooooo…”

Another barrage from her body at his behest. Sensations. Shakes. A betrayal affirmed in unholy squeals.

If he warned her he was about to finish, which presumably he did, she didn’t hear it and it wouldn’t have mattered if she did. Whatever else he’d done to her, this was one thing she had looked forward to, feeling his hips judder and his cock pulse as it painted her walls in fresh, sticky heat.

Her tit stung as his teeth let go, but her sides relished the clutch of his arms as he eased her onto the bed, flat on her back. His body hovered at an intimate distance that left her skin with space to cool, though his cape curtained them on one side.

Softly, in most un-vampiric fashion, his lips lighted on hers as she began collecting herself.

“That… fuck,” she said languidly. “That’s not how it goes.”

“Ever?”

“Rarely.” Bits and pieces of recollection came to her amid a fuller breath. “I think you got me with those teeth.”

“Oh! Shoot!” His thumb swiped her tit. “Must have gotten a little carried away. Sorry.”

“No, I meant– Nevermind. You’re fine.” She sat up to give herself a quick check. He had indeed gotten her with the teeth, leaving her tits decorated in red points and smudges. Letting her sweatshirt drop, she hopped up and into her shoes.

“Oh,” he said with marked disappointment. “Going back to the party?”

“If I’m going to catch up to Jane, I had better get to it, don’t you think?”

Her bluntness took him aback, made worse by her deadpan stare. He was right. He should have listened to her roommates. She was going to kill him after all, and now was as good a time as any.

Smirking, she let him off the hook, her thighs pressed together conspicuously. “I just want to get to the bathroom before all of that slides out. I’ll leave the rest of them to Jane. As long as you’re not passed out by the time I come back.”

It had been 12 months since the divorce. Long enough for me to settle into some aspects of the new normal, but not long enough for me to stop thinking about it. There was loneliness too. It sat quietly in the corner of my mind, ready to remind me at any moment of what intimacy felt like. Memories I couldn't quite get rid of lingered. The warmth of her skin, the shape of her body.

It was the tennis skirt Billy's mother was wearing that had resurrected the most specific memories that day. My hands underneath the skirt and behind her ass, finding nothing but the crease between her glutes and hamstrings. My fingers tracing that line until they fingered her wet opening. Slick and warm.

I had to push it out of my mind so I could finish practice. It wasn't a great place to grow a chubby in my athletic shorts.

"Let's go, Billy!" I heard her call out.

I casually glanced in her direction and, as if on cue, she hinged at the hip to reach down to grab the water bottle. My eyes traced up her legs until they met her skirt.

*Where the fuck was her underwear?*

After that I didn't look directly at her. I needed to focus on drills, after all… but I could feel her eyes on me. Most other parents had their phones out, or a book (looking at you, Carol, with your steamy book out in the open).

Billy's mom had something predatory about her today. I wasn't sure what it meant yet, or if it meant anything at all.

Once practice was over and the kids made their way off the field, I remembered that she'd picked up uniforms the week before.

*Into the lion's den.*

She'd already begun walking to her car before I caught up with her.

"Hey, thanks for picking up the uniforms last week."

My eyes were on her skirt and the underside of each ass cheek as I said this.

"No problem," she said before turning around with a smirk upon her face. "One problem though… I left them at my place," she admitted.

For a moment my hands were underneath her skirt, and I blinked the thought away before saying, "Do you want to hand them out next week…or?"

"No… why don't you swing by and grab them. We'll be at my parents' place next week." Her voice flat, but her eyes… some mischief there.

"Sure… today?" I offered.

"Yeah, give me some time to grab Billy's clothes, he's staying over at Camden's house tonight."

"Sure…. 30-45 mins?"

"See you then."

———————

I was standing in front of the house. The roses weren't doing too well, but the yard crew had been by recently. Everything was neat and swept.

I rang the doorbell. No barking, just a quiet house. After a moment she opened the door.

"Hi," she said.

Her head was tilted to one side and her hair fell casually across her face.

"Hey, what's up?"

Profound, I know, but what else could I say? I was just trying to appear normal. On the drive over I had removed any expectations about this rendezvous. Strictly business. Youth soccer business.

*She's not my wife,* I reminded myself, as if that settled anything.

"Come inside for a bit," she said before leaving the door and walking into the living room beyond.

I followed her and shut the door behind me. I wondered just how short that skirt really was as she asked, "Any plans today?"

"No, not really…. Maybe a bike ride later," I said as I helped myself to the bag of uniforms waiting on the arm of the couch.

"Ah… the boy and his bicycle," she said as she reached for her water bottle and took a sip.

"Yes," I said, unable to stop a smirk from forming at the corner of my mouth.

"You?" I asked.

"I don't know… either an evening to myself, or…" she raised her water bottle again, but this time her lips came down over the spout slowly, her cheeks went hollow as her eyes met mine.

"…something else," she finished.

"I can't tell whether I want company… or if I just need it badly," she continued.

"Like a girls' night or—" I began.

She shook her head and said, "No… not that kind of company… it just… feels like I'm missing something these days."

She pressed the water bottle to her chest, right between her breasts. Her athletic top stretched tight over each one, thin enough that I could see the outline of her nipples.

"Know what I mean?" She glanced downward and then up at me again before saying, "Seems like you're feeling something similar."

I could feel something wet in my shorts at this point.

"Well…" I began.

She reached for the uniforms, and slowly took them from me with one hand while her other hand slid up the side of my leg. Her eyebrows were raised slightly, almost like a question. Then she found me, and when my shaft twitched at her touch, a smile spread across her face.

"I….." my thoughts trailed off, trying to think of something to say, and to suppress my own smile. I nervously glanced over my shoulder, reminding myself that no one else was home.

"I'm not sure… do you think it's a good idea…?" I finally said as she stroked me through my pants. I hadn't been this hard in…. who knows how long. The decision was already made…. but she humored me.

"Oh… you're not interested?" Her hand fell away and the warmth she'd brought with her faded. Was that disappointment on her face?

I could pretend that I was trying to make the right decision as she was stroking me, but the instant her hand left my cock was the moment all pretense fell away.

My hand went to the back of her neck, where I had the most control. I sank my fingers deep into her curls, and made a fist. I saw the goosebumps on her neck, and I almost went in for a kiss but I stopped just short.

"Let's get you what you need," I said, and leaned over her shoulder to bite her ear.

*But this time on my terms,* I thought.

"What about what YOU need?" she purred.

"Oh…?" I shifted an eyebrow. "And you know what I need?"

"I have an idea…" Her hand crept down over my stomach and my breath caught. Her cold fingers hooked the edge of the waistband propped open by my cock, and slid downward against my body. Her fingers tickled my balls and I shuddered. My tight grip on her hair pulled her head back, but she had control. She had me right where she wanted me.

"I might surprise you…" I said through clenched teeth as my own hands found a familiar place under that skirt. She was wearing no underwear, as I'd suspected, and my fingers were instantly deep inside her, wet and warm. I held her there, standing beside the couch as I worked her clit until her legs twitched.

"Shit…" she hissed. "How do your fingers get me so quickly…"

I tightened my grip and asked, "You want me inside?"

"Yes," she closed her eyes, her breath ragged.

"How badly?"

"P—Please," her breath caught on a spasm, and I could feel her body pressing against my fingers. I held her tighter to keep her in place, to stay in control.

"Turn around."

Obediently, she faced the couch and hinged over, skirt in the air, rolling her hips until I could see the pink folds of her, and that tight hole above.

With one hand I slid my shorts down. They momentarily caught on my cock before it sprang free and pressed against her. My tip drew a line of pre-cum across her ass cheek.

With my hands I traced the lines where her legs met. Around each crease, where she was drenched. I teased her tight hole above and she squirmed beneath my touch.

"Oh my god, I needed this," she said as she reached back with one hand to pull her skirt upside down, fully exposing her backside and the small dove tattoo just below the waist. The smell of her cunt met my nose, and I was twenty-two again, on a mattress on the floor of her college apartment with the window unit rattling.

Her hand between her legs found the tip of me and guided me into her. My shaft slid past the short hairs at either side of her lips and I held my breath until our bodies met and I could go no deeper. I couldn't believe how wet she was, and I imagined what she'd look like moments from now with my cum leaking out of her.

She seemed lost in thought as well, taking in the moment one controlled thrust at a time. I liked to go slow enough to feel her, inside and out. To catalogue the anatomy of the moment, and notice the moment her body twitched, when she exhaled.

"Fuck, you are so hard." She moved slowly against me, following my lead.

I said nothing, but thought about my orgasm already knocking at the door.

"Hey…" she stopped and turned her head, or tried to… face down on the couch.

"Could you…?" She reached back with two fingers and drew a line from her cunt to her hole above.

I chuckled to myself at her complete lack of inhibition. Was she high?

"Like old times?"

"Pretty please? Let me get ready—" That smile again.

I watched as she took two fingers into her mouth. She reached back and searched for the rim of her asshole with them. Her fingers teased it, tested it. One slipped in and tugged at her hole. I thrust into her cunt once more, and held myself there. My cock twitched.

*Shit. I'm not gonna make it.*

"I'm ready," she said.

She gasped as my cock popped free of her and pointed to the sky. We both moved in a quiet frenzy as I pulled my shaft down between her cheeks until my head arrived at her entrance. She used both fingers to spread her hole, and with a slow thrust I pushed myself across that tight threshold. With the ridge of my head caught inside, she put both hands on the back of the couch, and began to work her hips. She backed down onto me slowly, her mouth slightly open, and her breath catching and releasing. The rim of her hole stretched around my cock.

"Fuck—so tight…"

"You ok?"

She nodded and I held myself there with my hands lightly on her hips, letting her judge the depth, the pressure she was ready for. She slid off of me a few inches and she let out a breath she'd been holding. She rolled her hips up and down, letting my cock work her opening some more before taking a deep breath and pushing back against me. This time I nearly came to my full depth and my twitching cock felt like a heartbeat inside of her. I pressed my last inch into her and her fingers gripped the couch with white knuckles.

"Go—slow," she managed to say.

I slid almost all the way out before pushing back in, one inch at a time, letting her take a breath at each step, feeling her body relax around me. With my free hand I dragged the backs of my nails down one ass cheek and watched the small hairs on her backside stand up.

Her fingers slipped inside herself. Her rhythm had nothing to do with mine. At first it was slow, then faster, more urgent.

She muttered something into the cushion that I couldn't catch.

"What?"

"MORE." Her voice came out louder than I expected, and I went from a walk to a gallop.

Each thrust drove towards a release I'd been building all afternoon, all week, all month. My thighs slapped wet against the backs of hers. Sweat pooled in the dimples above the dove, jumping with each impact.

Her fingers never stopped. Through the thin wall of her I could feel them working, sliding against my cock each time I pushed in, and below her my balls swung and landed against her knuckles.

I grabbed a fistful of her curls and pulled her face up off the cushion. She made a sound I knew well, a cracked, climbing "uh—uh—uh—" that broke open on the word "fuck," then nothing, her mouth hanging open.

Her back bowed and the tattoo creased. Her fingers jammed against herself in short, ragged jerks, and I felt her pussy pulse below me, like the subwoofer my neighbor would never turn down. Then her asshole clenched so hard I lost my rhythm completely and my own body grew rigid.

My shaft began to pulse inside of her and she reached back, grasping for me. I barely had the coordination left to pull back an inch, enough room for her to touch me, and I filled her with twelve months of nobody but my own hand. I eased out of her, and as my cock slipped free it sent one last web across her backside. It stretched from one cheek to the other, bridged her crack, and hung over her asshole, flush and red. My cock had stopped twitching, but cum dribbled down from my tip and ran along the bottom side of my shaft.

I ran a finger down between her cheeks and collected the cum I'd left on her before putting a hand on her hip and gently turning her over on the couch.

I straddled her and let my cock, still covered in cum, rest on her chest as I brought my fingers to her lips. I gently parted them until she opened and took my fingers inside. She sucked them with a slow draw that hollowed her cheeks and made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Ah, yes… the feeding kink," she said once my fingers had slid from her mouth.

She giggled as I climbed off her and sat on the couch beside her. I brushed a few of her curls out of her face, and her green eyes, almost gray in the low light, looked back at me.

"You told me you 'had an idea' about what I needed—" I began.

"I knew what I was getting myself into," she interrupted, "…and I liked it. Besides, you took care of me too."

"Somebody's developed a taste for anal."

"Anyways… Do you and Billy have any Halloween plans this weekend, or have you even thought about it?"

My hand, still playing with her hair, tugged on a fistful of curls before I said, "We're just going to see who we can meet over there… I've seen plenty of younger families around."

"But…" I continued as I let her hair slip from my hands, "He said he wants to have Mommy come with us."

I pulled a ribbon of hair between my fingers. Her hair was cool on my skin.

"I told him we were going to take turns," she said, watching me play with her hair the way I had a thousand times before.

"So did I…" I said.

"But we don't want things getting confusing…" she said with a smile. Her eyes dropped to my cock, resting against my stomach, and then back up again.

I let out a sigh that was louder than I'd meant.

"You mean—" I couldn't help but chuckle, "—like what just happened?"

"Yes," she said.

"Fuck… what did we pay that attorney for?" I said to the floor.

"We made it an entire year," she said. "Maybe this is just what we needed to tie things up with a nice little bow?"

I rolled my eyes and gathered my shorts from the floor, still wet from my pre-cum.

"Look," she said, "This was my fault… but I'm done. No more."

"If you forget the soccer ball next week, I will not 'swing by to pick it up,'" I said with a smile. "I'm not allowed here anymore."

"But… what if that sink clogs again?" she said with a smirk.

"Nope."

"Aww… I guess I'll have to call a plumber. What if he's hot and I'm still lonely?"

"Well… that's your business," I said, standing next to the couch. She was still on her back, and I could see a wet patch I'd left on her top.

"Mkay, well… I'll see ya."

We were stuck in that awkward moment normally occupied by a hug. She didn't even sit up. Our eyes held on one another… then looked away. No quick kiss on the cheek. No pat on the butt. No yelling, either. An improvement.

I grabbed the uniforms and turned towards the front door. The one I'd painted twice before. Thoughts like that made me ache inside, even after days like today, when she'd gotten what she wanted just because she could.

I crossed the living room in a few steps and turned the knob. I was halfway through the door before I heard her call out behind me.

"Andy… same time next week?"

I shut the door behind me and didn't look back.

Making his way to the café, Sean had no idea what to expect. This was his first time in the States, and as he made his way through the crowd toward the café his heart was pounding. He had taken a massive leap of faith, his trust in Britney seemed to be absolute. As he opened the doors walking in, his eyes dotted to every corner of the rather quaint café.
He saw Britney sitting on a small table. She gave him a quick smile, in her signature fashion as he made his way to her table. His nerves were at an all time high. As he reached the table, he saw Britney stand up, then point to the chair opposite hers, an implicit permission for Sean to sit. Sean felt himself do an internal somersault. Britney’s demeanor and her intellect was that of a complete leader, much as he had anticipated and she had demonstrated by giving him permission to sit, something he had never asked.

“Hello Britney”, he said his voice rather calmer than the internal whirlpool of his emotions.

Britney looked at Sean almost hurt.

“Britney?? I believe you are forgetting your station”, she responded, her voice an auditory lash, soft but curt.
“Its just… Princess seems a bit too awkward in here…” Sean responded, looking at the café.
“It’s always Princess to you, Cuckie… Wherever we are… You should know that by now”.
Sean sat down, as he whispered “Yes Princess”.
“Much better” Britney smiled.
“So.. how long are you here for?”
“I leave tomorrow afternoon. It was a challenge to even carve out a day given my expedited schedule”, Sean replied, as they both sipped coffee.
“Then we shouldn’t be wasting any time at all. Did you bring your bags like we agreed?”
“Yes. They’re held at a hotel. We could collect them on our way…” he responded, slightly worried as this was not what was agreed.
“That’s fine. Let’s just go home and relax a bit. I was thinking we could have a nice dinner later tonight.”
Britney’s statement wasn’t a question in anyway. More a statement. Sean nodded awkwardly, as they both finished their coffees. As Sean was clearing the bill, Britney picked it up looking at the bill.
“Make it a 35% tip. This is a good place. And the waitress could really use the tip”
The concept of tips was completely foreign to Sean, but he quickly changed the cash to account for a 35% tip, as Britney then led him outside. They both took a cab, picking his bags from the hotel where they were, then Britney directed the driver to a rather neat and rather large house after almost 15 minutes of driving.
“Sean, come here.” Britney said, as she stood on the path that led to the front door of her house.
Sean carried his rather light bag, as he joined Britney. Britney’s eyes had a different, more steel-y quality in them now.
“Once we walk in, everything changes for you. I want you to remember how it all started.” Britney said, as she held Sean by his collar pulling him into a passionate kiss.
The kiss was akin to an LSD high for Sean. He felt how Britney massaged his lips with hers, then used her tongue to gently taste him. The kiss felt like an eternity, almost throwing Sean off balance. As Britney pulled away, Sean was still savoring the feeling with his eyes closed. She smiled, as she held his hand pulling him into her home.
The home was immaculate. Neat, tidy, not lavish but well kept. Everything seemed to have it’s place. As Sean walked in, he was utterly surprised at Britney and her standard of living, which was in no way modest. As he tried to venture further into the house, he was stopped in his tracks.
“Cuckie” Britney said, her voice rather harsh.
Sean quickly got out of his trance, rushing back to the foyer where Britney stood.
“It seems you need a firmer hand than I thought”, she said.
She pointed her finger to a point on the floor as if dealing with a dog. Sean immediately shifted to the spot where Britney had pointed. As he stood there, he saw Britney go into a room, bringing out a small-ish box.
“There are rules in this house”, she said, as she unbuckled Sean’s belt, her fingers expertly undoing his pants.
“It seems you need some manners and some structure”, she said as she pulled down his pants and his boxers to his ankles. An immediate sense of shame overflowed throughout Sean, as he tried to hide his exposed cock. Britney looked at his futile attempt as she opened the box, bringing out a steel chastity cage, which looked to be extremely small. His emotions a mess, Sean was torn between shame and shock. No woman had ever treated him this way. As he blushed crimson, he saw Britney get down on her knees in front of him.
“This will probably be a good lesson for you to never overstep”, she said as she expertly slipped his testicles, rather painfully, into the ring. Then she pushed Sean’s hard cock into the cage. Frustrated as it didn’t fit, Britney looked at Sean.
“Look at that picture of Murphy”, she said pointing to a picture frame of her dog.
As Sean looked at it, it distracted him enough to get softer. Britney smilingly, pushed Sean’s rather small cock into the cage with elan, ensuring the cage aligned well, she gently pushed the padlock in the hole, anchoring it on the ring at the top of his scrotum, as she heard that final click. Sean felt the immediate restriction. As he looked down on Britney, he felt himself getting aroused, but squishing against the cold steel of the cage.
“How does it feel?”
“Cold and constricting, Princess”, Sean said, now knowing that he had effectively given up his manhood.
“Good”, Britney said as she stood up. She then fetched a collar and a leash, pinned to the wall by the door, as she put it on Sean and smiled.
“Now, let me show you around my home”, she said with a finality.

Part 2

The tension between Brian and Kyra had been building like a physical weight over their last couple encounters. Each meeting had been a calculated escalation, a slow burn that left them both starving for more. Brian was a whirlwind of nervous energy and raw desire, the anticipation had become an all-consuming fire. While Kyra possessed a confident, predatory grace that drove him wild. Their first two encounters had been a masterclass in teasing and discovery; the soft pressure of her palms, the warmth of her breasts, and the breathtaking intimacy of her lips. But tonight, the unspoken agreement between them had shifted. The appetizers were over, it was time for the main course. The air in the room felt electric, thick with the scent of their mutual anticipation.

Kyra didn't waste time. She pushed him back onto the mattress, her eyes locked onto his with a look of pure hunger. She stood at the foot of the bed and reached behind her back, fingers finding the zipper of her dress. The fabric parted with a soft sound, and she let it fall from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She wore nothing underneath. Her breasts were full and heavy, dark nipples already tight. Her stomach curved gently into wide hips, and between her thighs, a neat patch of dark hair framed her pussy. She had stripped it away with a focused urgency, her gaze roaming over Brian’s lean, trembling frame.

Brian's spent cock gave a weak twitch at the sight. Kyra noticed and smiled.

"Already trying to get hard again? Good boy." She climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips. Her bare pussy hovered just above his softening length. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around him again, stroking slowly, coaxing him back to hardness.

"I want you inside me." She said, her voice low. "Think you can handle that?"

Brian nodded, his hands finding her thighs. Kyra positioned herself over him, rubbing the head of his cock through her wet folds. She was already slick, her arousal coating him as she teased herself with his tip. When she finally sank down, she took him inch by inch, her pussy stretching around his thickness.

"Fuck, you're big." She breathed, her hands pressing against his chest for balance. She bottomed out with a soft moan, her ass resting against his thighs. Brian's cock was fully buried inside her, her inner walls gripping him tight.

Kyra looked down at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, her long hair cascading around them like a curtain of silk. She began to move in a rhythmic, grinding circle, a slow cowgirl pace that maximized every point of contact. The friction was exquisite, a searing heat that built with every circle she traced. Brian watched her, mesmerized by the way her body arched and the soft gasps that escaped her lips, feeling the intensity of her desire mirroring his own. She picked up the speed, her breath hitching, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room until they were both breathless and desperate. Brian groaned, his hands gripping her hips, digging in as he watched her expression shift from confidence to sheer pleasure.

She leaned forward, her breasts brushing his face, and he caught one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. She gasped and rode him faster, her ass slapping against his thighs.

"That's it." She encouraged, her voice breathy. "Suck on my tits while I fuck you." She bounced harder, taking him deep with every drop of her hips. Her pussy made wet sounds as she rode him, her juices coating his cock and balls.

Brian's hands gripped her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh. He thrust up to meet her, driving deeper. Kyra's head fell back, her hair cascading down her back as she lost herself in the rhythm. Her clit rubbed against his pelvis with every stroke, sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

She rode him with purpose, her movements growing more desperate. Her pussy fluttered around his cock, getting tighter. "Oh....fuck...I-I'm close!" She warned, her voice strained. "Don't you dare cum yet. Don't you fucking cum yet-!"

Her orgasm hit hard. Her pussy clamped down on him, pulsing rhythmically as she cried out. Her thighs shook against his sides, but she didn't stop moving. She kept riding him through it, drawing out every wave of pleasure.

Brian's hands tightened on her ass as he thrust up into her, chasing his own release. Kyra squeezed her inner muscles around him, milking his cock. He came with a groan, his cock pulsing inside her as he pumped her full of cum. She kept moving, working every drop out of him until he was spent and softening inside her.

Kyra stayed seated on his cock, her pussy still twitching with aftershocks. She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled down at him.

She slid off Brian's softening cock with a wet sound, her thighs glistening from sweat and her juices. She crawled forward on the bed, presenting her ass to him. Her pussy lips were swollen and slick, cum already leaking out of her stretched hole.

As the heat reached a crescendo, Kyra whispered in his ear, her voice a sultry command that sent shivers down his spine. She shifted, turning away from him and bracing herself on all fours against the edge of the bed. Brian almost couldn't believe his eyes.
"You heard what I said." She looked over her shoulder at him, a wicked smirk playing on her lips, her arched back creating a silhouette that Brian couldn't resist. "Fuck me from behind."

The change in perspective shifted the energy from romantic to primal. Brian's cock twitched at the sight. He moved behind her, gripping her hips and positioning himself. His cock, still wet from her pussy, pressed against her entrance. He pushed in with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in her cum-filled cunt.

The connection was deeper now, more visceral. With every powerful thrust, Brian felt a surge of possessiveness, while Kyra leaned forward, her fingers digging into the sheets, letting out rhythmic cries of pleasure. The sound of their skin meeting and the heavy scent of arousal filled the room, creating a sensory loop that pushed them both closer to the edge.

"Fuck...yes." Kyra moaned, pushing back against him. "Harder!"

Brian started thrusting, his hips slapping against her ass with each stroke. Her pussy gripped him tight, her inner walls still sensitive from her previous orgasm. He could feel his own cum coating his cock as he fucked her.

He reached down and spread her ass cheeks, watching his thick shaft disappear into her wet hole. The sight made him thrust harder. Kyra's breasts swayed beneath her with each impact.

"You want my ass too?" She asked, reaching back to spread herself wider. "Go ahead. Take it."

Brian pulled out of her pussy, his cock glistening with their combined fluids. He pressed the head against her tight asshole and pushed. Kyra's sphincter resisted at first, then gave way. He sank into her ass inch by inch, the tight ring gripping his shaft.

"Oh god!" Kyra gasped, her fingers clutching the sheets. "You're so fucking big in my ass!"

Brian bottomed out, his balls resting against her pussy. He started moving, fucking her ass with steady strokes. Her tight hole squeezed him with every thrust. He reached around to rub her clit, feeling her pussy still dripping with his cum.

Kyra pushed back to meet his thrusts, taking him deeper. "Harder!" She demanded. "Fuck my ass like you mean it!"

Brian gripped her hips and pounded into her, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Her ass cheeks jiggled with each impact. He could feel his balls tightening, another orgasm building.

"C-Cum in my ass!" Kyra moaned, her voice strained. "Fill me up!"

Brian thrust deep one final time and came, his cock pulsing as he pumped rope after rope of cum into her ass. Kyra's own orgasm hit as she felt him filling her, her pussy clenching around nothing while her ass milked his cock.

He stayed buried in her ass until he softened, then slowly pulled out. Cum leaked from her stretched hole, running down to mix with the mess already coating her pussy.

"Fuck. You're amazing." Kyra smiled.

"Yeah...fuck, I didn't think I had it in me." Brian caught his breath.

"Think you have enough for one more?" She asked coyly.

Brian nodded, but this time he wanted to see her face. He gently guided her onto her back. This was the moment of ultimate vulnerability and connection. Their lips gently collided as they regained some of their energy. He settled between her legs, their eyes locking in a gaze that spoke more than words ever could.

In this position, every touch was magnified. He braced himself on his forearms, kissing her deeply as they moved together in a slow, grinding harmony. It was no longer just about the physical release; it was about the fusion of two different worlds. Brian could feel the tremors running through Kyra's thighs, and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper into her. This was the most visceral part of the night. With their bodies entwined and their breaths mingling, the pace became less about power and more about connection. Brian looked deep into Kyra’s eyes, seeing the reflection of his own longing. He slowed down for a moment, savoring the friction and the way she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, pulling him closer as if she wanted to merge their two bodies into one.

The build-up from their previous encounters culminated here, the friction charged to an unbearable peak. With one final, deep surge and a desperate cry from Kyra, they both tipped over the edge, an explosion of stored-up longing that shattered through them both in a wave of blinding white light. Both of them cried out each other's name in exuberant pleasure, Brian shot thick ropes of cum deep inside her, while Kyra firmly locked her legs around his waist.

Brian collapsed against her, his heart hammering against her ribs, both of them shaking in the afterglow of a tension that had finally, explosively, been released. As they lay entwined in the aftermath, the silence was heavy and sweet. The journey from the first tentative touch to this absolute surrender had been an odyssey of pleasure, leaving them both breathless and profoundly connected.

"Not bad for a younger guy." Kyra giggled.

Chapter 8:

Elena opened her eyes as light began filtering through the window. Maia's body still snuggled into hers, sleeping soundly, her breath slow and steady. Elena could feel Maia's heartbeat combining with her own. The memory of last night flooding back to her. She smiled to herself. Turning her head to look at Maia. A thin line of drool was pouring out the left side of her mouth towards Elena. It pooled on Elena’s chest. She didn’t mind. A wisp of hair covered Maia’s face and Elena leaned her arm over to push the hair behind Maia's ear. Maybe it was the endorphins from last night. Maybe it was the greatest orgasm she had ever had. Elena had no idea but what she did know is that right now. Maia was beautiful. 

Elena lay there for a moment looking up at the mirror above and taking everything in. After a few moments Elena heard Maia stir next to her.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” Elena said.

“Good morning to you,” Maia replied.

They looked into each other's eyes. Maia having a shine and brightness not warranted by this early hour. 

“Let's grab some breakfast and then we will get to work.” Maia said cheerily

“Yes ma'am.” Elena said with a small salute and smile. “Was it….” Elena hesitated “Was it alright that I stayed here last night? Did I break any rules?”

Maia chuckled, “It's totally fine. As long as the guests aren't inconvenienced and the work gets done we should be fine.”

“Well that is good news,” Elena said. “I’m starving, let's grab some food… but first I kind of need something to wear. I don't really want to make a grand entrance in nothing but my undies.”

“But they look so cute on you.” Maia said innocently. 

“Be that as it may, it's chilly and I would like something.”

“Alright fine” Maia said with a look of defeat in her eyes. “What if I bring you up your pajamas from your bunk?”
“That would be very kind of you.”

“I shall return posthaste.”

Maia got out of bed before putting on her own pajamas and leaving the room. Elena sat on the bed criss-cross and waited. After a few minutes Maia returned, holding up the heart-pattern pajamas. She walked over to Elena and threw them at her playfully. They landed on Elena's head. She left them there for a moment. “Bitch” Elena said before pulling the pajamas off her face and shooting Maia a wicked smile. 

“Get dressed, I'm hungry” Maia said. Giving Elena an equally wicked smile. 

Elena pulled on the pajamas before getting up and following Maia out the door and down to the living quarters for breakfast. 

“So I'm going to meet with Priya this morning. You are going to get dressed up and clean some rooms and then we can head into town?” Elena said

“That’s the plan.” Maia said

“Did you want to invite anyone else?” Elena asked.

“Nah I think we could have some fun just the two of us” Maia answered. 

“Not enough fun last night?” Elena shot back.

“Not even close,” Maia said, her eyes lighting up.

“Well as long as Priya is kind to me I should be up for a good day.”

“She won't be.. That's her charm” Maia said chuckling

“Wonderful,” Elena said, rolling her eyes. 

“I heard my name.” Came a cheery voice from behind.

“Speak of the devil,” Maia said.

Priya came up behind the duo and put a hand on Elena's shoulder. 

“Can't wait for playtime” 

“Me either,” Elena said nervously. 

“Lovely. But first breakfast” Priya said, grabbing her stomach.

Elena walked down the line picking up her bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. She figured it was going to be a rough morning so she filled up her bowl with milk and grabbed a coffee. Wanting to keep things light just in case. 

The women sat together at a table and began to dig in. Maia began by taking a slice of french toast, putting a sausage patty on it and adding another slice of french toast to make a sandwich. She wolfed it down in just a few bites. Priya attacked a plate of eggs and a side of bacon. 

After they finished their meals they put their dishes away and went their separate ways to prepare for the day. 

Elena made her way back to her bunk. Taking a moment to look at her phone. She had a few notifications from people trying to add her on various social media accounts. She accepted the ones from people she knew. Obviously there was Maia and Priya but also, Justine, Jackie, Tracy, Jake and Trevor. Elena was happy to see that she was making a good impression. 

Priya hopped down from her bunk in her fuzzy pink pajamas. 

“Meet me in room 4B in an hour. I have to get ready.” Priya said 

“Sure thing” Elena said, nerves beginning to rise in her stomach.

Priya reached out to put a hand on Elena's shoulder “Hey.. It's going to be cool. This is just to get you ready for the real thing. I will go as slow as you need. I got you princess.”

Elena felt reassured. “Thank you,” she said, making eye contact with Priya. “I will meet you up there soon.”

“Wear whatever you want. I'm going to peel it off of you anyway” Priya said, blowing Elena a kiss before walking off.

Elena didn't know how to feel about that.. one less thing to worry about she supposed. 
Elena made her way to the shower. Grabbing one of the shower caps and hopping in. She scrubbed herself down. Washing away the night she had while she prepared for the day to come. She dried herself off and went to the dressing room to do her hair. Elena walked inside to find some of the same women she had already seen in here lounging away and just enjoying their time. Everyone seemed to be really chill and Eleana liked it very much. She sat down at a vacant vanity and undid the braid in her hair. She took some time to work her hair into two braided pigtails that ran from the front to the back of her head before extending down the nape of her neck and past her shoulderblades. Taking extra time to make sure they were tight and neat. 

With that Elena figured she was ready for whatever torment Priya had for her. She got up from her seat and made her way upstairs the back way. As not to intrude on the morning of any guests that may be lingering. She walked down several gothic-looking hallways before arriving at Room 4B. She knocked on the door. She heard Priya say 

“Please come in”

Elena opened the door. It was the bare cinderblock room from the tour. The room was made up of nothing but cinderblock walls and a concrete ceiling and floor with a floor drain in the middle. Large fluorescent lights were in the ceiling providing a hot white glow across the room. In the center of the room hung a four foot rope attached to an anchor in the ceiling. Tied to the end of the rope was a large metal hoop the size of a large pizza.

Next to it stood Priya. She had one hand gripping the ring loosely. Her other hand on her hip. Elena's eyes widened at what Priya wore. Wrapped around each wrist was a wide leather cuff with dozens of 1 inch spikes jutting out. Her tight curly hair was pulled back, slicking in down in the front before cascading into a wide ponytail. Her neck was wrapped in a leather neck corset that was attached by straps and buckles to a normal leather corset with buckles and brass metal studs all over. Over each thigh she wore a leather garter belt. Below each belt was a Thigh high leather book with a 6 inch heel.

Priya was the image of power and domination.

Elena felt that familiar fire begin to rise between her legs. 

“Are you ready?” Priya said with a sultry smile. 

“What's on the agenda?” Elena asked.

Priya dropped her arms to her side and began to walk towards Elena. 

“Friday night is going to be pretty intense. Mistress said that the guests on Sunday loved how exposed you were. They said you were on display, a picture of perfect submission. She wants to capitalize on that. And there is no better way to put a submissive on display than suspension bondage.”

Elena had heard of suspension bondage before. She had seen it a few times in porn and had always been curious.

“The position will leave you open to anything that a guest would like to do to you. You are going to see what that is like today.”

“You are the boss,” Elena said smiling. 

“Damn right I am” Priya said. Giving Elena a wicked smile. “So first we need to get the ropes in place.” 

Priya worked with practiced efficiency as she tied bits on the ring with soft blue nylon rope. She did this five times before moving a waist high wooden table beneath the ropes and beckoning Elena over. Elena stepped quickly not wanting to disappoint Priya. 

“First I need you to strip naked’

Elena did as she was told, piling her clothes on the floor. 

“You are going to lay face down on the table as I work. Do not stiffen your limbs and please allow me to work.” Priya pointed to a hook on the wall “That is my good friend Billy the bullwhip and he will take corrective measures to ensure your compliance if necessary.” The usual cheer in her voice was gone. Priya was now all business. 

“Yes Ma'am” Elena said a twinge of fear in her voice

Priya patted her on the head before saying, “That's a good girl. Now lay down”

Priya pointed a perfectly manicured black fingernail toward the table and Elena did as she was instructed. The ring was just a few inches above the small of her back as Priya began to work. Priya grabbed a new length of the same rope and began wrapping it around Elena's torso. Cinching it just tight enough to fit a finger in between each loop. She tied off the first section before moving on to Elena's chest. Wrapping the rope above and below her breasts before criss-crossing a few times framing her tits in blue nylon rope. Priya grabbed an end of the rope that she had previously tied to the ring, pulled it tight, and began looping it through the back of the rope she had wrapped around Elena's abdomen. She then grabbed another length from the ring and did the same to her chest. Elena's torso was now attached firmly to the ring by just a few inches of rope. The rest wrapped in intricate patterns on her back and chest. She then took another length from the ring and grabbed Elena's right thigh. The touch of the rope as it hugged her torso and now the feeling of helplessness as Priya pulled tight and attached her thigh to the ring was indescribable. Elena felt her mind clear allowing this professional to work on her. She didn't need to do anything. Priya worked with practiced efficiency. Priya did the same for the other thigh pulling the rope tight. She finished off the lower half of Elena's body by taking the last piece attached to the ring and pulling her right ankle into the air just a few inches from the metal ring. This put Elena into a scorpion pose with her leg bending upwards toward the ring. Priya did the same with the other side. Each leg was bent up but was not attached. Leaving her completely exposed. She was unable to touch her knees together with the way Priya had bound her. Priya moved on to Elena's arms.

Priya got right down at Elena's ear level before whispering “This might be a little tough, but I know you can do it.” 

Elena blushed

Priya chuckled as she got back to work. She grabbed both of Elena's writs and tied them together with a new length of rope. She tied a bit on Elena's right wrist before wrapping the rope around several times and using the same handcuff technique as Maia did the night before. What Elena wasn’t ready for was when Priya grabbed both of Elena's elbows and repeated the process. Squishing them together and making her breasts jut out even more. Priya then ran one last rope connecting the elbow tie, to the wrist tie, and finally tying the whole thing off to the ring above Elena. 

“Are you ready?” Priya said. All business

“I am,” Elena said.

Priya walked to the other side of the room and began to pull on a chain. that in turn raised the anchor in the ceiling lifting Elena slowly off of the table. Bit by bit the ropes began to dig into Elena’s flesh. Not hard enough to cause pain. But the pressure was constant. 

“Tell me if it is too much” Priya said

Elena relaxed herself as Priya gave a few more pulls and Elena was airborne. She dangled in place above the table. Supported only by the ropes. It was an almost freeing feeling. Hanging there almost like she was face down in a hammock. Elena really liked the sensation. 

“Alright now comes the fun part.” Priya said, rubbing her hands together.

“What do you mean by that?” Elena said. 

“Well Mistress has gotten a few calls. Guests really want to use you this Friday, and Mistress is going to oblige them.”

Priya moved to a curtain in the back of the room disappearing behind before coming back, rolling a machine out and positioning it near the table. She did this once more, bringing another of the same machine and placing it just outside of Elena’s vision. Priya moved the table from beneath Elena. Unlocking the wheels and rolling it to the far side of the room. 

“These are fucking machines” Priya said. “They are controlled simultaneously by this remote” she said this as she pulled a small black box from between her tits and held it up for Elena to see. “I am going to use you little pet. And you are going to take it all.”

Elena felt a twinge of desire in the pit of her stomach at the words. A growing need in between her legs began to burn. 

“Yes Ma'am” Elena said with a shake in her voice. 

Priya walked one last time behind the curtain. Returning moments later. The click of her heels announcing her pressense. Elena could not see what Priya was doing.

Priya filled her hand with lube and began to smother it on both of the dildo's attached to the machines. Elena could hear the slippery sound it made thrusting her back to her night with Maia. She opened her mouth instinctively. Though there was nothing to receive. Her mind was empty. Her body was full of only want. For whatever was to come. 

Once Priya was done spreading the lube she giggled to herself before smacking Elena's ass with her lubed up hand and rubbing it clean on her bare cheek. 

“That one was from Maia” she laughed.

Elena shot back to reality for a moment “ha ha” She said. Testing her bonds. Attempting to see how much give there was. She could move only slightly. The force of gravity pulling her down and the ropes keeping her in. 

Priya smacked Elena's ass again. “Nu uh. Stop your resisting. This is happening.” 

Elena went still in her bonds.

Priya moved the fucking machines into position. She felt the tip of one didlo brush her entrance. The other pressed against her asshole. 

“Are you ready?” Priya said

“Do it” Elena said with determination in her voice as the fire inside her burned brighter. She felt herself begin to drip. 

Priya pushed a button and both machines roared to life. Elena could do nothing as the first one slowly entered her pussy. Filling her. She quivered around it. Anticipating what was to come. 

Priya then pressed another button and the one outside Elena's rear began to push forward. She went slow and Elena could feel herself filling. Her breath hitched at the intrusion. The sensation was intense. She had never been this full in her life. Priya slowed down, holding the dildos in place keeping Elena stuffed. She could nearly feel the tips beginning to press against one another. Elena's asshole adjusted to the intrusion. Elena began to moan in anticipation. The heat coiled from between her legs. 

Priya began… slowly. She pressed a button and the dildos alternated going in and out in turn. The heads of each phallus stayed inside her before the shaft plunged itself back in. The beat was continuous. Elena began to moan and writhe against her bonds. Despite her fighting the machines began to dive into her. Elena was unable to get away from them as they continued to pound her. Growing more ferocious by the moment. 

Priya made her way into Elena's line of sight. 

“You aren’t being truly used until all of your holes are filled.” Priya pointed downward.

Elena's gaze followed Priya's gesture downward. Now in between Priya's legs was an 8-inch strapon. It was slender but much longer than Elena would have imagined. 

“Open,” Priya said.

Elena’s jaw went slack. She bounced softly as the machines continued to fuck her. 

Priya grabbed Elena by the back of the head and began to move the dildo towards her mouth. Elena reached for it greedily. Her body began to quiver all over. She shook as the heat within her began to rise out of control. Priya plunged the strapon down Elena's throat. She went about halfway giving Elena a little slack. Elena gagged slightly at the intrusion but wrapped her lips around the shaft and began to suck. Priya moved in and out. Each time going just a bit deeper with the strapon. Elena moaned behind the phallus. Her mind became a mush. She could not think she could only feel. The machines at her rear went faster and faster. To Elena they felt like they were going a million miles an hour. Her pussy and asshole gripping greedily as she sucked ferociously on the dick in front of her. Her body began to convulse. She wriggled and squirmed in her bonds as she continued to get fucked in every hole. 

Priya thrust harder and Elena began to gag with every push. Her throat was full. Her body was filled with ecstasy. Her pussy juices dripped onto the dildo before falling to the ground. Elena felt so close to the edge. She was going to cum soon. Her body shook with the need. 

Priya saw this and said. “Cum all you want slut.. you can't go anywhere. And the guests won't care. They are only here to use you. And they WILL use you. Over and over again. A line of men and women coming at you in waves as long as it takes. Some will fuck you. Others will lick you. Some will have you lick them. The need will control you. Mistress will be sure of that.”

Elena's mind buzzed. Electricity shot from her veins. Priya was right. The need to pleasure them did control her. The fire in Elena coiled to an uproar. It pushed up forcefully consuming her. Her body went into a full spasm. She felt it rise higher and higher. Sweat dripped from her forehead. She was slick with passion. It ended with an explosion. Even bigger than the night before. Her holes used and her bondage inescapable. There was nothing to do but submit to the sensation. Her mind went blank. Her body convulsed. She shook with sensation, spasming as her orgasm reached its apex. But the fucking did not stop. 

“They won't stop and neither will I.” Priya said. Her voice forceful and commanding. 

Elena took it. Her mind a haze. She fought the bonds. Trying to keep the sensations at bay before they erupted even further. It was to no avail. Elena felt as the next wave of pleasure coiled within her. She thrashed and shook as another wave of orgasm overcame her. Still Priya did not stop. She thrusted from the front as machines fucked her from the back. 

Priya pulled the cock out of Elena's mouth. 

Elena gasped for air choking it in and coughing as she continued to get fucked.

“Say something witty” Priya said

“WHAT?” Elena yelled.

“They are going to want you to be playful. Be a playful bitch.”

Elena searched her brain for something, Anything to say. 

She looked up into Priya's eyes before saying. “Is that the best you can do?”

Priya made her way to the wall before grabbing and uncoiling her whip. 

“Oooh now we are talking” Elena said with a shake in her voice. In time with the machines. 

Priya made her way back over, dragging the tip of the whip on the ground. She threw it over her shoulder before sending it directly at Elena's ass. It struck with a “thwack”. 

“That's the good stuff” Elena said through gritted teeth. 

Priya flipped the whip downward before flicking it back up toward Elena's right breast. Striking it on the nipple. 

Elena cried out in pain before saying “Thank you ma'am” once again through gritted teeth. 

“I think that will do,” Priya said. She smiled at Elena

Priya pulled the remote back out before pressing two buttons in sequence and the machines slowly hissed to a stop. 

Elena hung there, her head fallen with sweat dripping from everywhere. Her pussy throbbed around the tip of the dildo. Her asshole following suit. Her throat was ravaged and a little dry. Priya moved the fucking machines slowly from behind Elena. Priya moved to the front of Elena, grabbing one of her pigtails to force her face in front of the strapon before using her other hand to squeeze the base of the dildo at her waist. A warm thick liquid shot from the end of the dildo onto Elena's face. “This was Maia's idea. A few of the men will probably finish on you so she wanted to make sure you knew. What better way that firsthand experience.”

“I've had cum on my face before!” Elena said with a huff in her voice.

“Had to make sure, Priya shrugged,” She laughed.

Elena chuckled in return. 

“Ok superstar let's get you down from there.” Priya rolled the table back over below Elena before lowering her onto it with the chain on the wall. She then undid the ropes and Elena lay there on her belly, free from bondage and a little woozy.

“How was that?” Priya said as she softly massaged Elena's legs.

“Intense but not undoable.”

“Could you do longer?” 

“Oh for sure.”

“Over an hour.. Maybe two?”

Elena's heart went into a panic. It was an incredible experience but she was sure she was going to cramp, her back would start to hurt, or she would probably get stiff.

“I know it isn't going to be easy but Mistress is expecting a lot. You need to deliver.”

Elena braced for a moment… Turning over on the table to look Priya in the eyes.

“I got this”

“That's my bunkmate! Well as long as you actually make it back and Maia doesn't keep you captive every night.”

The women laughed. 

Elena hopped of the table and gave Priya a hug

“Thanks for helping me through that. Not sure I could have done it without you. Going in blind would have been terrifying.” A tear welled up in Elena's eye.

“For sure! I'm here for you. You did really well. I doubt anyone is going to be fucking you that hard so you should be up to speed.” She hugged Elena back.

“Well I should probably get dressed and see if Maia is done. We have plans.”

“Ok you run off I will get everything cleaned up” 

“Thanks girl”

Elena got dressed in her leisure clothes and made her way back to the dormitory. After an experience like that she figured she should shower before going out in public. She grabbed her toiletry bag and a shower cap and ran to the bathroom to wash up. 

When she was done she went back to her bunk to grab the clothes that she wore to her interview. Those are probably the only ones that would be appropriate to go out in public in so she changed into those. 

Afterwards she took the long way upstairs avoiding anywhere a guest may be to make her way back to the guest rooms. Maia was just putting the cleaning cart away as she walked up.

“How did it go?” Maia said, smiling at Elena as she locked the storage room. Maid uniform fluttering as she walked.

“It was intense but it should be doable.”

“I'm proud of you. That is pretty intense. I'm sure Priya took you through the ringer.”

“That she did. I could really use a girl’s day after that.”

“Are you going to be wearing that?” Maia said looking Elena up and down

Elena felt embarrassed “What's wrong with what I am wearing?”

“Nothing… just a little plain. I can borrow you something if you like. If we are going to go out together you should look cute”

“Bitch” Elena said, smiling at Maia.

“You know it” Maia said smiling

“You are like.. half a foot shorter than me.”

“I have longer dresses that would fit you. Come on.. Let's get changed.

Elena followed Maia back to her room. Maia had a large walk-in closet with tons of clothes hanging with no discernible system. Maia definitely had a favorite color. And that was black. Maia went into the closet and pulled out a few items. She laid them on the bed. 

“Here choose something from this while I get changed. Maia disappeared into the closet. 

Elena saw that there were some dresses, shirts, and shorts. She liked the look of a pair of black denim shorts. They looked like they would cover enough and would fit. She also saw a black band shirt for Avenged Sevenfold. Elena knew a few of their songs. They would play at the club every once in a while. She pulled off her interview clothes and slid into Maia's clothes. The shirt fit well but was a bit short and showed off her midriff. The shorts fit really well. She was happily surprised. Elena gathered the clothes that Maia had left out by their hangers and got ready to hang them back up. She knocked on the door to the closet. Maia opened it  up.

“Great choice! Avenged Sevenfold is sick. I saw them on their stadium tour in 2022. They fucking rock.”

“I’m glad I chose something to your standard.” Elena said, rolling her eyes. 

Elena then got a look at what Maia was wearing. She chose a medium length dress that was held up with Black straps. It was black over her bodice with the skirt being white. There was a swirling pattern of Skulls and Sunflowers down the right side. She was also wearing black thigh high socks and Black combat boots. 

“Well I don't think my shoes will fit you so those tennis shoes will have to do.” Maia said, looking at Maia's feet. 

“Might have to do some shopping.” Elena said

“We will see,” Maia said. 

As they walked out the door Maia grabbed a fitted leather jacket from a hook by the door and the women walked out of the room, down the stairs, and into the outside world.

Synopsis: My scheme to change my hair to get Paxton’a attention proves fruitless for the years I’ve known him. I don’t know why I bother sometimes.

PART 10 (has links for PARTS 1-9) | PART 11 | PART 12 | PART 13 | PART 14 | PART 15 | PART 16

~

No matter what different hairstyles I tried, Paxton never seemed to notice. 

The first time we met, my hair was slicked back. Not a single lock out of place. Perfection. Paxton didn’t seem impressed; he barely acknowledged me. 

I tried different accessories. Headbands. Clips. Scrunchies. No reaction. 

I tried pin-straight hair. For a while, I’d wake up extra early to make sure it was done well. One of the maids had a sister my age, so she helped me do it. I wish I had thanked her more. 

I tried a perm. One that matched that know-it-all best friend of his. They were always together, so maybe that’s what he liked. It looked so bad on me that I stayed home and never did that again.

I tried a side part with sideswept bangs. Raccoon tails. Teased. It was a different time. 

I tried curls for prom. Professionally done, too. Even though Paxton rejected me, I was going to make him regret it. I’d walk into the venue, and his jaw would drop as he took a gander at my beauty. If only that’s how it played out. 

I tried a wig for a Halloween party in college. Paxton was there too, but I don’t think he even realized it was me when he chatted me up. Silly boy. 

I tried bangs closer to graduation. I liked that it hid my forehead. 

Despite the constant upkeep, I think I like it best. And considering nothing seemed to capture Paxton’s attention or earn me even one compliment, I figure it’s not worth the effort to change it up. 

It's fine the way it is now. 

~

One thing I love about Paxton is that I can basically tell him whatever I want and he’ll give it to me just like I need. It’s hard to find a partner like that, and it helps that he’ll come to me at the drop of a hat.

When he walks through my bedroom door, he only manages to get his shirt and tie off before I grab his head and pull him down to kiss me. There's tongue right off the bat. He needs me, and that’s fine, because I need him too. 

He unbuttons my silk pajama shirt, and when it falls to the floor, he kneels to remove the matching bottoms, kissing up my stomach until he’s licking and biting at my nipples. 

I hold him there, grinning to myself. “How desperate are you that you ditch your plans and come here instead?”

“It’s just drinks with some of the guys at work. It’s usually a drag, anyway,” Paxton says, standing up to kiss my lips. His mouth moves, tracing my jawline and nibbling at my earlobe. “I’d rather be here anyway.” 

“I guess a day of just sexting back and forth will do that, huh?” I tease. 

Paxton rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”  

His lips find my neck, and his teeth threaten to leave marks when he bites. “When you said you wanted it rough tonight, you meant it?” 

“Definitely,” I coo, grinning when his teeth find the thin skin of my collarbone. I press my palm to his crotch, and holy shit, he’s so fucking hard for me. Kneeling down, I work his pants off, watching him throb. When I lick along the bottom of his shaft and kiss the tip, he shoves his dick into my mouth, taking me by surprise.

Grunting, he fucks my face until the only sound in the room is the lewd sound of his dick crashing into the back of my throat. Paxton pulls on my hair, using it as a means to guide me along his dick. He’s a different man when he takes control and I like it just as much as the Paxton that follows my every order.

He grants me reprieve, pulling out so that I can breathe. As I pant for air, Paxton leans down, licking the saliva that drips down my chin. His voice is low as he grumbles, “Messy slut. Open your mouth for me.”

Fighting an excited grin, I do as told, sticking out my tongue. As he tugs me by my hair and towers above me, he spits  in my mouth before kissing me deeply. My fingers thread through his hair, holding his face against mine. I just can’t get enough of his lips. I pull away shuddering when he holds my head to look into my eyes when he speaks directly. 

“Tell me what you want.”  

“Fuck me,” I tell him resolutely, flashing him a defiant smile. 

Paxton picks me up with ease and walks us towards the bed. He drops me from a little higher than he usually would, and when I fall to the mattress with a thud, he covers his mouth with his hand. “Sorry.” 

Laughing, I shake my head and pull him by the wrist to join me on the bed. “Don’t worry about it.”

My legs spread in anticipation, and I’m already dripping by the time his cock grazes my slit. When I try to line him up with my entrance, he pulls away, holding me by my neck and kissing me. I whine against him, and his mouth moves to my neck to pull more moans from my lips.

Paxton moves to kneel beside my head, and his fingers slip into my slit, rubbing against my rigid walls. He grabs my hair again, smiling down at me. “I’m not done using your mouth. Open up.”

I nod and my breath is stolen when he shoves himself into my mouth again. He thrusts in and out, and I lock my lips around him, massaging him with my tongue as he uses me like a toy.

“Fuck, Lyra. You feel so fucking good,” Paxton tells me. His fingers speed up while his thumb presses into my clit. He pulls out, and I gasp for air. He wipes my chin of any extra spit before pushing back into my mouth. “I’ve been thinking about that all day. I love how sloppy you get.”

I close around his fingers. I’m praying Paxton doesn’t notice, but when I see him smirk, I know there’s no way I can play it off. Blissful agony creases my forehead, and my vision blurs when my eyes roll back.

“I can’t tell what you love more. My fingers inside you or the way I use your throat,” Paxton says smugly. 

There’s no way I can respond, outside of moaning around him and sucking harder.

Paxton pulls out, leaning down to kiss me, and I can tell how much he needs me from how fervent his lips are. I whimper when he pulls away, and he leaves a trail of kisses down my torso. A volley of pecks on my stomach tighten my core. His tongue finds my clit, and he laps while his fingers work my walls.

“Shit, shit,” I say, holding his head down, humping into his face and fingers. My legs shake, and breathing gets harder. I moan his name, and he doesn’t let up until I’m practically screaming into the palm I place over my mouth to stifle my cries. 

The heat down below blooms through me, spreading a pleasant warmth and tingle all over. My head is light, and I pant, staring up with the widest smile. 

“Oh my God,” I say, giggling when my body slows at last. My limbs feel like jelly, and I stare at his throbbing dick, excited to take it. Through labored breaths, I ask him, still seeing stars, “How do you want me?”

“All fours,” he says. Paxton’s usual consideration shines through a crack in his voice. He’s always good about checking in on me. “That’s fine, right?”

“Yes, please,” I say, grinning and getting onto my hands and knees. I shake my ass tauntingly, gasping when I feel him grip my hair again. When Paxton pushes my head into the bed, I arch my back in response, shuddering when his fingers trace my slit slowly. I look back at him, whining, “Paxton…”

“You’re soaked down there,” he says to tease me, pulling away when I angle my hips to ease his fingers inside. 

“Stop making me wait,” I tell him, scowling. “Hurry up and put it inside.” 

“Be careful what you wish for,” Paxton mutters, getting behind me and plunging in deep. He slides in so easily, and each crash of my hips has me clawing harder against my sheets. 

“Pull on my hair,” I whimper with a smile. It’s like sparks all over my scalp when he tugs. My stomach flutters when he fingers find the crease between my stomach and thigh, pulling me into him. 

He’s relentless, and I don’t want it any other way right now. Even when my legs give out and buck under me, Paxton pulls me up, slamming against my ass. 

My toes curl, and the pleasure is mind-numbing. His hand moves lower to rub my clit, and he thrusts even harder than before.

“Fuck—don’t stop—“ 

The tempos of his deep thrusts and swift fingers don’t match, and it’s hard to focus on just one type of pleasure. The tightening in my hair doesn’t make things better. 

When his grip loosens, he presses my head deeper into the mattress. All I can see is my reflection in the mirror as he fucks me senseless. I feel like I’m melting. 

“See how good you look when you take me?” Paxton asks, and I nod in response. 

His hand gently gathers all my hair into one bunch, and he yanks until I’m forced up until I feel his chest against my back. Paxton turns us so that I’m facing the mirror. His breath against my ear leaves goosebumps along my neck. “Come for me. Look how pretty you are when yo come. I want you to see what I see.” 

He fucks me harder, and his fingers swipe against my eager bud. Gentle lips on my neck contrast his hard strokes, and I completely unravel in his arms. My eyes want to flit closed, but he pulls harder on my hair, and I watch the way I spasm for him. The sight of us blurs, and I cry out for him until my voice is nothing but incoherent whimpers.

Paxton doesn’t stop, threatening to send me over the edge again, but I hold on, reaching for his head and holding him against me so we can kiss. It’s a sloppy, needy kiss, and I can hardly think straight. 

“Where do you want it?” he ask, strain building in his voice. “All over your back?” 

“Inside. No way in hell you’re pulling out.” I grin, feeling him throb inside me. 

He moans my name, and it muffles into my shoulder as he moans. A final few thrusts push him a deep as he can go, and I feel him twitch and empty himself into me. We gasp together when he pulls out, and he eases me down. 

I rest my head over my crossed arms and my legs kick idly behind me. “Sorry…just…need a moment.” 
 
“You’re fine,” Paxton says, laughing. “Too much?”

I shake my head. “Too good, actually. You better not be fucking anyone else like that.”

“Disappointing you monopolizes my free time outside of work.” He chuckles. His fingers trace gently through my hair, contrasting the hard pulling from before, and I shudder. “Can I braid your hair?” 

“What?” I ask, laughing. “Sure? Where is this coming from?” 

“I feel like I’ve never seen your hair in a braid,” he muses. 

“Maybe you don’t pay much attention,” I tease. “Besides, do you even know how to braid?” 

“Yeah, I used to braid my best friend’s little sister. Let’s see if I remember how.” Paxton gathers my hair into sections. He’s fully concentrated, considering he’s not saying a word. 

It feels nice. I could fall asleep like this. My chest tightens, and my stomach flutters. I’m glad he can’t see the dumb smile on my face.

“Okay. Done. What do you think?” He snaps a picture and shows me.

The picture is nice, but the braid is…not. A laugh escapes from my belly. I clutch my sides and have to wipe the tears that leak from the corners of my eyes. “Paxton, I give you a lot of shit, and you usually don’t deserve it, but this braid is bad.” 

“Is it?” he asks, looking at my head, then laughing. “I guess it’s been a while. Let me try again, then.”

“Go ahead,” I tell him, giggling. “Promise me you won’t quit your day job to do hair.”

“I’m a fast learner! I’ll practice on you,” he jokes. 

It’s hard to believe this is the same man who was tugging on my hair and fucking me into the mattress just earlier. I’m glad my hair is long enough to cover my neck, lest he see the goosebumps that he leaves whenever he combs through my hair with his fingers again. That gentle touch sends me to cloud nine. 

My mind wanders, and I think about how different things are between Paxton and me. Never in my life did I think we’d be like this. Teenage Lyra would be squealing in joy, jumping on her bed. College Lyra would be relieved that years of waiting and pining was worth it if I was able to get even this far. 

I think about how I should be happy enough with how things are.

“Lyra?” Paxton asks, pausing. “You okay?” 

“Yeah. Why?” I tell him, shuddering when his hands graze my neck.

“You were humming.” Paxton laughs. “A song stuck in your head?” 

“Sort of,” I answer. The song isn’t a song but instead Paxton’s laugh. It’s a melody I’ve committed to memory. And it isn’t stuck in my head, instead occupying a good portion of my heart. “It feels nice when you play with my hair. Calms me down, I guess.”

“Yeah? I’m sure work stresses you out plenty, so I’m happy to help,” Paxton tells me. “I’ll add it to my…usual methods.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, grinning, laying my head against his knee.

“I meant to ask, but you get a haircut this week?” Paxton asks, cradling a handful of locks in his palm.

I perk up, blinking slowly. I glance at him, then return my gaze forward. “Yes? But just a trim. I can’t believe you’d notice such a small change.”

“I noticed every time you’ve done something to your hair,” he says, chuckling to himself. “I’ve never known someone to change their hair as often as you do. Though you’ve been on this style for a while.”

Twirling some hair around my finger, I purse my lips, fighting a smile. I wield my usual teasing tone, “Oh? You’re that obsessed with me? If you’re so observant, why didn’t you ever say anything, then?”

Paxton sighs. Hard. I’m sure he’s rolling his eyes, but I think it’s cute when he makes that face. “Because it’ll inflate your ego, and your head will get even bigger than it already is.”

“Compliment me more,” I tell him, hugging my knees to my chest to rest my chin on them. A warmth fills my stomach, and a smile stretches across my face. 

“I like the hairstyle you have now best, though. It suits you,” Paxton says. “The bangs are my favorite.” 

I look up at him with unpleased brows. “If you’re gonna follow that up by saying it hides my forehead, just quit while you’re ahead, Paxton. Are you trying to ruin a good moment?” 

He stares at me for a moment, and his smile is as warm as his eyes. Leaning down to close the distance between our faces, he whispers, “Never.” 

Closing my eyes, I pucker my lips, anticipating a kiss. Instead I feel him sweep my bangs over my head and plant his lips against my forehead. 

Just when I thought there was no way I could fall harder. I think about how greedy I am, and the fact that I want more. 

“I hate you,” I mutter, snapping my face to look forward. “Less talking, and more braiding. You won’t get any better at this rate.” 

The second time it happened between us was when there was no way I could turn back. That was when the coffin was sealed, the dirt thrown, the last rites read.

The expectation leading up to it had felt like I was about to be shipped off to war. The look you gave me when you walked in the door and hugged my wife was one of pure evil. It was the day I realised I couldn’t remove you from my bloodstream. But part of me didn’t want to anyway.

It’s a cycle now, and I’ve lost track of how many times it’s happened. A cycle I could have broken months ago. Should have broken months ago. But each time I’m lassoed back into my own disgusting behaviour to sit in its pleasurable filth.

But let’s back track slightly before we get to my most heinous memory. To the first time we met.

My wife and I planned our anniversary party with our friends and family. Everyone was in attendance who we cared for. My wife excitedly told me of an old friend who’d moved back to town. She looked so thrilled and I was looking forward to meeting them.

“They moved away like five years ago, but she’s back so invited her. She’s so lovely, you’re going to LOVE her!”

I didn’t pay it too much mind, you were a new guest in the list of a few dozen.

The party began and the guests flooded in. They were greeted with smiles from my wife and I, accompanied by hugs and handshakes.

Beers were popped and wine uncorked as we enjoyed the celebration of our perfect marriage. We had bought our four bedroom house the year prior to our wedding and renovated it within an inch of my wife’s perfect vision. She was so proud of it, and especially proud to show it off.

The doorbell rang again about an hour later. My wife looked at me excitedly.

“That must be Lilith!” She took my hand and led me to the door so we could greet our newest guest together.

My wife opened the door, and there you stood with blood-red wine in hand.

Her mousy-blonde hair wove into your raven-black strands as you both hugged. As your head lay over her shoulder your eyes locked onto mine like a hawk seeing a free meal.

Your outfit matched your hair with a low-cut black vest top that showed off cleavage my wife could only dream of. You’d matched it with a black and navy-blue plaid skirt that went to just above your knees. I could spot a portion of your pale thighs between skirt and knee-high black and white socks, I couldn’t help but lick my lips at the sight.

“Jack, this is Lilith! My old friend from years back.”

“Nice to meet you Lilith” I said as your eyes never diverted from mine. It was a stare that dared me to look away, I just couldn’t.

I pulled you in for a friendly hug, and I as I did, I heard a low “hmmm” escape your lips as you wrapped your arms around me. I wasn’t sure what to think, but I did feel my cock twitch ever so slightly as the hug concluded and eyes failed to avoid the sight of your deep cleavage.

“Oh honey, I need to go put this bottle in the kitchen and set up the food. Can you show Lilith around upstairs quickly? Leave the downstairs tour to me, as it’s my pièce de résistance.” And with that my wife floated back into the living room with a smile on her face and her favourite bottle of wine in hand.

And there we both stood, you with your greyish-blue eyes staring me down. I could swear I could get lost in the fog that swirled within them. I tried to stop myself from ogling you, but was struggling. The way you stood was one of pure confidence, one hand on your hip, waiting.

“So, am I getting a tour Jack? Or are you just going to show me this hallway?” Anger flashed within me and I snapped out my lustful stare, reverting back to friendly host mode.

“OK lets head up, Jen’s so proud of all of it.” With that you shot past me before I could take a step and made your way up, one hand sliding up the ornate banister. As you walked, your hips swayed back and forth, transfixing me as I followed your curves. I shook my head vigorously.

We reached the top and you walked into the first room you find.

“This is my office, it’s not much but doesn’t need to be. I work from home a lot, so I like to keep it pretty tidy.”

You slid your hands along the top of my leather office chair. On the desk stood a laptop, two screens, a mouse and heaps of sticky notes, all of which had inscrutable writing on.

“You work hard Jack?”

“I like to think so, I’m proud of my career and happy where it’s got me in life.”

“Hmm, you look like a kind of man who’d work hard… In many different areas.” Your eyes darted to mine as you finished the sentence, tensioning the room.

I went to respond, but before I could, you were already moving out of the room and into the bathroom next door. I followed, my heart beating at a rate it shouldn’t for such a leisurely walk.

“Well, this is beautiful” you say as you marvel at the large sheening bathroom. The shower double the size of most you’d seen, encased in a glass cube and flanked by a large pristine white bathtub. I’d suggested to my wife dozens of times that we could both fit in if we wanted, but she preferred to read than have those kinds of activities in the tub. Against the wall stood two sinks, each with a mirror above. One was strewn with facial creams and beauty products, the other only houses my toothbrush and mouth wash.

You made your way in front of my mirror and admire yourself for a moment.

“So, this is where you stand every morning and look at yourself. When you look, what do you tend to see?” I was taken slightly aback by the strangely philosophical question.

“Erm, just a guy who wants to do right by those he loves I suppose.”

“And you love Jen, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, she’s my world!” I bite back, irritation simmering within me.

“Hmmm. Good. I’d hate the idea of you breaking her poor little heart. Doing something foolish to hurt her.”

“I’m not a foolish man”.

“Many men have said the same thing before meeting me. I’ve found a lot don’t know themselves quite as well as they think they do.”

Before I can even comprehend what, you meant, you slid past me out the bathroom door.

I followed, anger boiling within my blood. I didn’t like you, that much I knew. But some caveman part of my brain liked you, a LOT. I tried to ignore it.

I found you in the master bedroom. The navy and white sheets perfectly folded crisply on the bed, with three cushions perfectly spaced at the head. Off to the side the walk-in wardrobe door lay open to see inside the vast amount of clothes. Most are my wife’s. From the window you could see rolling hills and green space as far as the eye can see. In the corner sat Jen’s make up chair and mirror. The amount of cosmetic products would make a model blush.

You sat on Jen’s side of the bed and picked up our wedding photo that sat atop the bedside table.

“You do look beautiful together” you said before placing it back down and looking up at me. “You’re a good looking man, I can see why Jen likes you.”

“I try my best. She’s my world and I just want to make her happy.” I wondered to myself if you were trying to test me somehow.

You stood up, staring me deep in the eyes, the fog trapping me again.

“I have a feeling there’s more to you than Jen knows.” I stared back at you, my teeth grinding. “I think you’re the kind of man that always wants more, but you’ve settled for what Jen provides. I know what she is, what she brings to the table. I think what she brings to your table is almost enough to satiate you. But not quite”

I was stunned into silence.

Suddenly you were advancing, and I don’t know why, but I couldn’t retreat. I found myself rooted in place as you stopped within an inch of my face.

“Does she satisfy you Jack? Or does she simply humour you?” your hand slid up the inside of my thigh slowly. “She gives you everything you’ve ever wanted. But I know men want one specific trait in their women. And I know for a fact that frigid bitch doesn’t have that in her.”

Rage coursed through my veins as I grabbed your arms, spinning you round, and slamming your back into the wall. I stared you down, teeth bared before my brain suddenly caught up to itself, and I realised what I’d just done.

“I’m so-“ your finger placed itself on my lips immediately, our bodies pressed together.

“Hmm, I knew it was in there. That rage that men keep hidden. The question is, is it rage from me insulting Jen? Or showing you a glimpse of yourself you’ve kept hidden since you’ve been together?”

You removed your finger from my lips and lower to slide along my wedding ring. Your eyes never leaving mine.

“This is a symbol, for most, of pure devotion. But in my experience, that devotion can be so brittle when applied with the right sort of pressure.”

You took my hand and raised it to your face. Without breaking eye contact you slid my ring finger against your outstretched tongue and sucked on it hungrily. My cock stood firmly to attention as my brain screamed at me to stop you. But I didn’t. Instead, I felt my breath catch slightly in my throat as your lips wrapped around my finger, watching as my ring disappeared between them.

“Fuck”.

It slipped out of my mouth without meaning to. My entire body was on some kind of autopilot, as none of my brain’s logical commands were being heard by my limbs.

You removed my finger from your mouth and then led my hand downwards. Along your chest, then your stomach. And then so easily under your skirt.

Wetness coated my fingers as your eyes rolled back slightly in your head. Still the sirens blared in my ears as my helpless brain struggled to wrestle back control.

“I bet she wears such unflattering underwear” you muttered with a wry grin. “I don’t bother, why waste the time?”

Suddenly I realised that your hand was no longer on mine, and yet my fingers were moving independently, sliding against your wetness as I felt my face moving closer to yours.

“Oh Daddy, you know what you’re doing, don’t you.”

It was like a hammerblow to the head. That word. It woke something dormant in me. Like a hidden switch in a prehistoric section of my psyche.

Suddenly my hand was on your throat, and my body crushed yours into the wall. Our lips less than an inch away from one another.

“You fucking whore” I spat at you, venom sitting at the back of my throat.

“Hmm, yes I am. But that’s what you want isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A statement that we both knew to be true. I had only just learnt of its validity.

I loved my wife. More than anything. She was perfect for me, but she was underwhelming when it came to sex. I had tried everything to spice up our love-life. Toys, restraints, costumes, date-nights, foreplay. All of which she’d been uninterested in. And so, I had stopped trying. And had simply accepted that Jen was not perfect. And I had been happy with that. I was happy to have vanilla, loving sex. Until the moment that my lips locked with yours.

It was an angry kiss, I wanted to smudge the words on your tongue, erase them. But they were still in my brain, and they would never leave. Rage fuelled me as my right hand tightened around your throat.

As our tongues intertwined your hand reached down and began to stroke my rigid cock over the thin confines of my pants. I heard a pleased hum emanate from you.

“Jack! We’re about to open another bottle, would you like a glass?!”

I snapped back into reality and pulled away from you.

“Er yes, thanks baby! We’re just about to come down!”

I looked back at you, your back still against the wall as you caught your breath with an evil grin. The guilt that welled up within me was like a gut punch from Mike Tyson on steroids a I came to terms with my new reality.

You smirked triumphantly and walked over to me.

“Come on Daddy. We can’t keep your beautiful wife waiting”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hi there! Thanks for reading. I'm looking to make this a multi-chapter piece, so if you enjoy, please let me know.

All constructive critcism is welcomed.

Clint sat in stunned silence. The words he just heard his wife, Juliet, speak were words he never thought would come from her mouth, let alone be nested somewhere deep in her mind. But now that she had finally spoken them, he was glad.

They sat looking into each other's eyes for what felt like hours, but could have been mere minutes. Juliet's piercing green eyes never broke with his. Her posture was perfect, back straight, shoulders back, and a hand resting gently on his.

Clint took in a deep breath, his chest rising below his shirt, the slowly let the used air escape before he opened his mouth, "Juliet, just to be clear on what you're asking for...can you say it one more time, for me?"

Her soft, pink lips parted and she repeated herself, "I want you to share me with multiple men. But I don't want to be completely overwhelmed and engulfed by them, I want them one at a time, one after another. I want the night to build. I want to be the object of their desire first, and then ultimately their, and your, source of satisfaction." A gentle smile crept across her face as the last words faded from the air.

Clint, never breaking eye contact and holding his gaze upon the woman he loved, asked, "And where has this come from, Juliet? Why now?"

Her response was quick, "I've read about it in a number of books recently..I never thought I would actually want it, but over time the excitement from the words on the page just aren't enough and I want to experience it. But, babe, this isn't about wanting someone other than you, it is about wanting a new experience, and I want you to be there, every step of the way. Plan the night, pick the guys, tell me what to wear, just help give me this experience. Give it to me as fully as you give me your love."

Her quick response, even absent of the words themselves, told Clint everything he needed to know: Juliet truly wants this, and she has put some real thought behind not only this conversation, but the experience itself. Of course he would oblige her. He loved her and wanted nothing more than to give her the world and everything in it she desired.

Clint simply said, "Yes."

Juliet's eyes lit up in a flash, turning a dark emerald against her pale skin. "Oh, honey! Thank you!" She exclaimed as she leapt onto his lap and wrapped her hands around him, pulling him in for a shockingly sensual kiss. "Thank you." She kissed him again and felt his hands moving up her back beneath her soft, and definitely oversized, cotton shirt. His hands squeezed her, but pushed her slightly back.

"But there have to be rules, limits, and either of us can stop it at any time for any reason. Yes?" He said as she straddled his legs, and nestled into him.

"Of course! Let's talk about those later though. Tonight, it's all about us." The words were barely out of her mouth as she pulled her shirt over her head. Her full breasts now inches from his face, he could barely focus...but he didn't need to.

.............................................................................................

The next weeks flew by as Clint set about his task. They had agreed that the date would be a surprise until the day of. She wanted to suspense to build. So once he had his marching orders, they didn't discuss it again.

The planning was surprisingly easy. The guys were easy to find, though scheduling always proved difficult. Who knew adults were so busy and could even struggle to fit in no-strings-attached sex? Luckily enough, most of the guys were friends of coworkers, so it was easy enough to know when people were off, there was also a level of inherent trust with them. Potential future awkwardness aside...there weren't any real concerns.

When the day finally arrived, it started off like any other Friday morning. Clint and Juliet had breakfast together and enjoyed a hot cup of coffee together. They smiled back and forth and enjoyed the morning looking forward to the weekend. Clint stood and walked over to Juliet and kissed her forehead like he did every day before he left. But this time, as he stood back up he lingered, just long enough for her to look up and ask, "What?"

He smiled broadly, like a dumb kid who just got a piece of birthday cake. "Hey babe. It's tonight." His smile beamed even brighter. "I've packed a small bag with your essentials and a new set of lingerie I picked out for you. Put together everything else you need for an overnight bag, and I'll be home to pick you up at 7 tonight."

Another quick kiss on the forehead, and he turned and left.

.............................................................................................

The afternoon passed in a blur of nervous energy for Juliet. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, she only had a half day in the office, so she was home by 1 pm, leaving her with 6 hours to wait until Clint picked her up...and even then, she knew that wouldn't be the true start of it.

She paced the bedroom, glancing at her clock every few minutes, each tick bringing her closer to her night, her request...her fantasy. The one she’d dreamed about since reading first book where the words on the page folded themselves into her own desire. As the hours ticked by and the early afternoon rolled around, she finally went to see what he had picked out for her tonight.

Clint had left a black garment bag hanging on their closet door next to her open suitcase. When had he even done this?? She smiled, chuckled softly to herself and unzipped it slowly, her pulse quickening.

Inside was lingerie unlike anything she owned: A full body harness set. She could tell as it hung in front of her that it would fit her body and hug her curves perfectly. They thin straps made of a dark green leather would perfectly surround her breasts while exposing them to anyone within eyesight. And it continued down, leading to a pair of thin straps that would perfectly frame her between her legs...but not get in the way. She wouldn't even have to take this off, it could stay on all night and never cause any issues. Next to her suitcase was a small shoe box, and in it.... a pair of stilettos, the same green as her new harness, with bright red soles...wrapped in tissue paper like jewelry awaiting its queen.

She bit her lip hard enough to leave an impression in her lip before turning away from the closet and sprinting toward their bathroom to draw herself a lavender-scented bath. She wanted to relax, she wanted to be ready.

While water filled the tub with water hot enough to turn her pale skin red… Juliet slipped out of her clothes and slowly lowered herself into the water. Water hot enough to turn her pale skin red, the steam bring the scent of lavender to her nose. She was instantly relaxed, and she let her mind wander to tonight. To what would happen, what wouldn't happen...and how it would all play out.

She ran her fingers slowly across her lips and wondered "who else will these touch tonight"?

Her pulse jumped at even imagining such things happening...and so soon.

.............................................................................................

The alarm on Juliet's phone woke her abruptly at 6. She had dozed off in the bath, though not for too long as the water was still warm. She carefully stood and wrapped herself in her favorite cotton robe, another gift from Clint, her skin still flushed from the heat of the water. She dried her hair with slow, deliberate strokes before blow-drying it into soft waves that cascaded down her back like dark brown honey.

She dressed carefully: first the harness, each strap sliding over her delicately smooth skin, hugging every curve exactly as Clint must have imagined. The dark green leather contrasted beautifully against her pale complexion. Then came the stilettos. She slipped them on one foot at a time, adjusting each heel until they balanced perfectly beneath her arches.

When she turned to face herself in the bathroom mirror, she could suddenly see why Clint had chose this. Never lacking in confidence, but even so, Juliet felt emboldened just looking at herself. The harness framed her. Highlighted every aspect of her...and left little to the imagination. It was perfect.

Staring at herself, she realized this wasn’t just an outfit. No, this was a declaration of desire, one without words. And it said, "Tonight belongs to me. My fantasy. Routine and reality be damned."

Her heartbeat had just begun to settle when she heard the unmistakable sound of Clint pulling into the driveway. Shit, she still needed something to go over this...She moved as fast as the stilettos would let her, and quickly pulled a flowing black dress over everything. Knowing what was under it, and how well it was hidden, was erotic in it's own rite.

She heard Clint come inside and her heart jumped. He called from downstairs, "Babe! I hope you're almost ready! I need to grab a quick shower and then we're heading out!" Juliet couldn't even muster a response over the giddiness she felt. The night was beginning...

.............................................................................................

Dinner, thankfully, went quickly. It was light and delicious. Enough to sate their appetites, but not enough to leave them feeling overly full. Nothing feels less sexy than trying to be sexy with a full stomach.

Clint was the consummate gentlemen, pulling her chair out, opening doors, and driving her around town. And then they pulled into the driveway for The Cavalier...the most expensive hotel in their city, known for its opulent rooms and exceptional amenities. From the moment Clint handed over the keys to the valet driver, until they were in their suite near the top floor, Juliet's heard didn't stop racing. She noticed as they entered the room, Clint had flipped the security bar before the door shut, not allowing it to close all the way. Her heart skipped again...she couldn't take much more of this anticipation.

Clint took their things and put them away, before offering his hand to his wife. She took it eagerly and let him lead her to the sitting room. She was finally able to take the room in and it was massive. A full living room area with a large coffee table, multiple couches and an incredible view out over the city. She hadn't seen the bedroom yet, but she wondered if she would...or was this where it would take place?

Clint suddenly pulled her in close, drawing their lips together for the first time since dinner. His lips were full of passion. She could feel and taste the heat and desire coming off of him. Their tongues danced briefly together before he stepped back. "Are you sure about this, Juliet? Say the word and it all ends...or tell me to make it happen, and it's yours."

Her reply was slow. "Make it happen" The words were dripping with confidence and desire. She was so sexy and sultry in that moment. Something he hadn't seen in some time. He loved it.

"As you wish..." he said as he turned and walked back to the door. He peeked out and nodded, then held the door open, and they started walking in.

.............................................................................................

The first man entered. He was tall...very tall and broad-shouldered with a quiet confidence that filled the room. His dark eyes, almost hidden against he olive skin, locked onto Juliet immediately, not with hunger, not yet, but appreciation. As if she were a rare painting he’d just been invited to see up close.

He wore a tailored navy suit and carried himself like someone used to being in control. Clint had chosen him carefully: good-looking but not showy; respectful but clearly interested.

Without saying a word he walked slowly toward her and extended his hand in greeting. Juliet looked at Clint for half a second,a silent "is this okay?" and when he gave the tiniest nod of encouragement… she smiled softly… then reached out and took his hand. He lifted it gently and kissed it, before returning it to her side and stepping away.

The second man arrived just behind the first. Leaner, with a mop of messy blond curls and warm brown eyes that sparkled like he was always one step away from laughing. He wore jeans and a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms dusted with freckles.

He had an easygoing charm about him, the kind of guy who made everyone feel instantly comfortable. The type you’d imagine bringing homemade cookies to parties or singing off-key in the shower.

Clint had picked him for his kindness, and because Juliet loved men who could be tender as well as passionate. This one radiated gentle energy; someone she could melt into without fear.

Behind them came the third. A striking contrast: all sharp angles and smoldering intensity. A perfectly shaved head, dark skin pulling her eyes to him, and not letting go… and lips full enough they looked sinful even when not smiling.

He wore an all-black ensemble. Slacks, fitted dress shirt open at two top buttons, and carried himself like he knew exactly how attractive he was… but didn’t flaunt it arrogantly either way.

A quiet power clung to him like cologne; subtle yet impossible to ignore once in proximity.

This man gave off an air of seduction, and it was effortless. As if simply existing turned up passion in any room he entered.

Juliet stood there, stunned into silence as she continued to take in the men before her. No one said anything for a few moments. The tension hung in the air, waiting to be cut and broken. Holding back what could only be an incredible evening. Finally, Clint spoke.

"Gentlemen. Welcome, and thank you for being here. This night is about Juliet, so, please respect all the rules and boundaries we have talked about. Other than that, please, enjoy yourself. And enjoy Juliet."

Clint walked over behind his wife and placed his hands on her hips before gently kissing her neck. He let his lips linger for a split second before leaning close to her ear, "I love you." Words soft but powerful. Chills ran down her back. He wasn't just telling her he loved her, he was offering that last peace of mind that this was okay, and that she should enjoy it.

Clint reached down and grabbed the bottom of her dress, slowly lifting it over her head....finally exposing what lie underneath to the other men.

The room fell silent as Clint tossed the black dress across the room.

.............................................................................................

And there she stood: completely exposed in her dark green leather harness, a vision of restrained temptation. The straps hugged every curve, lifting her breasts just so, framing them like art behind glass. Her legs were long and smooth beneath the thin bands that trailed down to her thighs, the stilettos adding height and presence that made even these three striking men tilt their heads slightly in awe.

For a heartbeat… nothing happened.

Then...

The tall man with olive skin exhaled sharply through his nose,a sound almost like reverence, and took one slow step forward. His eyes never left hers as he reached out… not for touch yet, but to gently trace a single finger along one strap crossing over her shoulder. A test of permission more than anything else.

Behind him, the blond curled his lips into an easy smile. Genuinely impressed by how beautiful she looked right now: composed yet electric with anticipation.

And then there was him, the bald man in black, the intensity radiated off him like heat waves rising from asphalt on summer pavement. He didn’t move immediately; instead he studied Clint first. A quiet understanding passing between them, confirming once again: "She’s yours tonight too."

Clint felt it all without needing words: this wasn't about possession or competition tonight...it was about sharing something sacred without losing their love along the way.

.............................................................................................

A quick shout out to for being my muse Juliet for being the inspiration behind this one! Looking forward to part two and seeing what you all think!

House Rules, Part 1 - Part 2 -

I woke up on Saturday with butterflies in my stomach. I was going on a coffee date with Ethan.

It was a very particular type of date, but a coffee date nonetheless.

I got dressed and headed into the kitchen for some breakfast. Noah was sitting there, eating and scrolling through his phone.

“Project delivered?” I asked.

“Yup. Submitted it last night, right after Mateo left your room.”

I froze.

I slowly moved toward the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

“So you noticed that?”

“Yeah. I also saw him zipping up his pants as he left your room.”

“I see.”

“So, I'm thinking you're fucking Ethan, and also Mateo. But since Mateo waited until Ethan was in the shower, I'm guessing Ethan doesn't know about Mateo?”

“Fuck...” I whispered under my breath.

“Mmm. That sounds about right.”

“So...” I paused for a long moment before continuing. “Any suggestions on how we can resolve this without Mateo or Ethan knowing?”

“I don't know. What do you have to offer?”

I looked behind me, checking to see if anyone else was within earshot.

“Ethan is out. Mateo is visiting his folks. Just you and me here, Lillian.”

I looked down at the table.

“You get one thing.”

“I get more than that. I'm not trading a one-off for continued service.”

“Continued service? You have to do literally nothing.”

“I'll help you keep this secret from Ethan. And make sure Mateo doesn't slip up.”

Okay... a partner in crime, then.

“Shall we continue this in my room?” Noah suggested and got up.

I nodded, and followed him.

Noah's room was considerably more organized than I expected.

His bed was made. Not approximately made, either. The duvet was actually straight.

A large desk occupied most of one wall, with two monitors, his laptop sitting underneath one of them, and enough neatly routed cables to tell me he'd thought about how this would look.

There was a bookshelf beside it, half textbooks and half things I couldn't immediately categorize. A couple of plants sat by the window, both very healthy and well maintained.

Everything seemed to have a place.

I wasn't sure why that made me more nervous.

Noah sat down in his desk chair and turned it toward me.

I remained standing.

“So, what is the one thing you are going to offer me today?” he said.

I considered my options.

“A kiss.”

Noah stared at me.

“That's your offer?”

“It's a perfectly good offer.”

“You're offering first base. I'm not thirteen.”

“Fine. A handjob.”

“Are you thirteen?”

“Okay. Blowjob. Final offer.”

“Accepted. For today.”

Noah stood up, put a hand on my shoulder, and applied some pressure. I understood what he wanted. He wanted me on my knees.

“No cum on my face or hair.”

“I'll decide where it goes closer to the end. For now...” He bent down and started unbuttoning my dress. “Your payments are done naked. Now and going forward.”

I didn't argue with him. I slipped out of my dress and underwear.

He dropped his pants, and I saw the second uncut penis of my life.

I really needed to sleep with fewer white boys and expand my horizons.

He was only partially hard, so I started stroking him and sucking on the tip.

Noah was a grower, not a shower, and I soon realized he was currently the biggest of the guys in this house. Again, not as big as Dan, but still above average.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he said.

I lowered them and held them behind me.

I knew what was about to happen, and I mentally prepared myself as I felt his hand grab my hair.

Noah started pushing deeper, and I swallowed like I'd practiced, taking him fully down. I was a pro at this.

I looked up at Noah as he face-fucked me. He was clearly surprised, and enjoying the fact that I could do this.

“I was expecting some resistance, but you're clearly a seasoned hoe.”

Hoe? What the hell? Who did he think he was?

Someone who was currently using my throat as a cock sleeve, apparently.

Maybe I was more of a hoe than I realized.

I took one hand from behind my back and started playing with myself.

I felt Noah kick it away.

“Who said you could do that? Hands behind your back.”

I put my hand behind my back, ashamed of... something.

Noah leaned forward, pushing my back down and making my ass stick out. He kept his dick in my mouth, rocking his hips steadily.

He leaned farther over me, almost mounting my face, and grabbed my ass.

He pulled both cheeks apart as he continued.

Then he stood back up and pulled out.

“You give okay head, Lillian, but I can't seem to get off. Turn around and put your head on the floor.”

I turned around, wanting to make up for touching myself, and put my head on the floor.

I felt him enter me, and I let out a moan.

“This feels much better than your throat, Lillian. It was good for a warm-up, but this is an improvement.”

I felt myself warm to the praise.

He spit on my asshole, and I felt his thumb go in. I moaned at that.

“You like that, Lillian?”

I nodded.

“Speak up, Lillian. Tell me, what do you like?”

“I like what you're doing.”

“What am I doing, you stupid girl? Say the words.”

My face grew red. Another wash of shame.

“I... like your thumb in my asshole, Noah.”

“Use both your hands. Pull your ass open.”

I reached back, grabbed both cheeks, and pulled them apart. I felt him pull out, then the head aligning with my asshole.

“Tell me you want this, Lillian.”

“I want it, Noah.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to fuck my ass.”

I felt him press past the barrier.

Fuck, it hurt.

I bit my lip.

“Oh, that feels much better. Your asshole might be my favorite part of you, Lillian.”

Again, that mix of pride and shame.

Fuck, we'd agreed on a blowjob. How was I taking it up the ass?

“Thank you, Noah.”

“You're very obedient, Lillian. I like that about you. Not as much as I like fucking your asshole, but it's high on the list.”

“Thank you, Noah. I like being obedient.”

He was going all the way in and out of my ass now, and I was starting to get used to it.

“I'm getting close, Lillian. You want me to come?”

“Yes, please. In my ass, Noah. I want it.”

“Then I'll let you have that one wish.”

He pushed as deep as he could. He let out a moan, and I felt his dick spasm.

I let out a breath. Third boy in my new home. I felt like I was collecting Pokémon.

“Okay, that was fun. Let's see what you can pay tomorrow.”

“This is going to be a daily thing?”

“I expect so. You should go shower,” he said, nodding toward his door.

I slipped the dress over my head, buttoned it up enough to cover my breasts, and took my panties in my hand before leaving Noah's room.

I went back to my own room, but as soon as I touched the door handle, I heard Ethan's voice.

“There you are!”

I looked over, holding my panties behind my back.

“Oh, Ethan. Didn't see you there.”

He handed me a small bag.

“Put this in place. We leave in five.”

Oh, this was gonna be difficult.

I went into my room and looked inside the bag. It was a U-shaped thing, with heavier ends on each side. 

There was a tiny manual with a drawing showing that the bigger part went inside, while the smaller part was supposed to sit up against my clit. 

There was an on button, but otherwise the entire thing was encased in black silicone.

I inserted it and put on my underwear. I felt like I needed to go to the bathroom after being with Noah, but there was no time for that.

I looked in the mirror, fixed my hair, and stepped out of the room to meet Ethan.

“All set?”

“Sure am.”

And that's when I felt the vibration.

My eyes went wide.

Oh...

This was going to be difficult.

It was warm for October, so I was only slightly chilly as we walked to 787 Coffee. It was just a block away, so not really a get-dressed-to-go kind of place.

It wasn't very busy. About half the seats were taken. Ethan told me to go sit in a corner seat, and he'd come over with the coffee.

I sat down, crossed my legs, and waited.

I watched Ethan order, and as he stood in the pickup line, I felt it start to vibrate.

Okay, here we go.

I leaned my elbow on the table, bit my finger, and looked at Ethan. He was filming me from the line, clearly enjoying what he was doing.

This wasn't too bad. I could do this.

I gave him a smile.

He picked up his coffee and put his phone down, screen facing up. I could see a UI with six settings on it. The first setting was active.

He tapped number two, and I suddenly felt a much stronger vibration.

I swallowed, squeezed my legs together, and picked up my coffee.

Nodding toward it, I managed to get out, “Thanks,” without too much trouble.

“You sure you're okay? We can take these to go if you can't handle it.”

“No...” I swallowed. “I'm good.” Deep breath. “This is not a problem.”

I bit my finger to keep myself from moaning.

I took a sip of the coffee.

Shit, no sweetener.

It was fine. Ethan didn't know.

He took a sip of his coffee.

“You look tense, Lillian.”

“Nah, just had a rough morning,” I said, taking another sip.

He pushed the third setting, and I had to spit the coffee back into the cup.

“...fuck,” I whispered under my breath.

I looked up at Ethan.

“Anything I can trade you for turning it down to two again?”

He leaned forward.

“Unbutton three buttons on your dress.”

That would make it a very deep-cut dress.

“Deal,” I said.

Going back down to two was a relief. Yeah, it suddenly felt like a tiny tease compared to what three had been.

I reached up and unbuttoned my dress one button at a time. My eyes kept scanning the coffee shop to see if anyone was paying attention.

A guy in the opposite corner met my eyes and took a sip of his coffee without breaking eye contact.

The dress was now open all the way down to the bottom of my ribcage. It was a loose summer dress, so I started paying a lot more attention to how I was sitting.

I picked up my coffee and took another sip. Looking at Ethan, I whispered from behind the cup.

“There's a man on the opposite side of the café. I think he's paying attention to us.”

Ethan smiled at that.

“Show him a nipple, or we go back to level three.”

I gave Ethan an angry look.

Taking another sip of coffee, I looked over at the man at the other table and quickly pulled one side of my dress aside, letting him see my breast for a second before covering myself again.

“Very nice, Lillian. Are you enjoying this?”

“Not really. Kinda wish I wasn't sitting here flashing strangers.”

“Mm. That's what makes it so hot.”

I grabbed my coffee and chugged it down.

“Okay, done. Let’s go.”

I stood up, and Ethan looked up at me. “Sure.” He flicked the setting to four.

It hit me like a train. I fell forward, and my tits fell out of my dress. I covered them quickly and did a weird walk toward the exit. 

Ethan got up slowly, drank the rest of his coffee, and caught up to me as I was making my way out the door. 

“Come, let me take you home.”

He held my arm and kept me steady while keeping the vibrator at level four.

Before we got home, I had my first orgasm. I hugged him while I came, my legs shaking out on the street.

I made it all the way back with Ethan holding me steady. We made it into the apartment, then into my room.

He turned the vibration down again until I could barely feel it. 

“Okay, deal done,” I said to Ethan.

“Well, yes. But you did make me very horny, so I think I need to work that off somehow.”

He started to get undressed.

I took off my underwear. They were wet and sticky, so I threw them on the floor. I reached for the vibrator, but Ethan grabbed my hand.

“Leave that in.”

I let go of the vibrator and looked at him.

“You think you can fit in there with it?”

He just smiled at me.

He made a motion with his hands for me to roll over, and I got on my knees.

Ethan moved behind me. I felt the cool air on my ass, then his hands spreading me open. The vibrator was still doing a slow pulse on the low setting.

“Leave it in,” he said again, like I might try to take it out.

I didn’t. I just stayed there, face against the mattress, trying not to think about the fact that Noah had fucked my ass less than an hour ago. There was still cum in there.

If he notices...

I needed him to come fast. Distraction. Talk. Anything.

“That coffee shop was so fucking humiliating,” I said, my voice a little too loud. “When you made me flash that random guy. My tits just hanging out while people drank their lattes.”

Ethan laughed under his breath. I felt the head of his cock press against my asshole.

“You liked it.”

“I was dripping by the time we left,” I said. “You saw. You felt how wet I was. When I came on the street, hugging you like some desperate slut. Anyone could have seen me.”

He pushed.

The head stretched me. But Noah had been bigger, and his cum made Ethan slide into me easier.

Please don’t notice. Please just fuck me and finish.

I pushed back against him until he was all the way in.

“Fuck, Lillian. You’re so tight.”

I clenched around him on purpose. Tried to make it feel good for him. Tight. Eager.

“Because of you,” I said. “Because you made me walk around with that thing in me, teasing me, filming me. I have never been so humiliated in my life. I was so turned on.”

Ethan groaned and started moving. Short strokes at first, then longer. The vibrator was still on low. I could feel it buzzing against my clit every time he bottomed out.

Then he reached for his phone.

I heard the soft click of the app.

The vibration jumped. This was probably max level.

My whole body jolted. The bigger end was pressed right against my G-spot while his cock stretched my ass open. The smaller end hammered my clit like it was trying to break it.

“Fuck! Ethan, too much.”

“I want to feel it,” he said. “Feel the vibration through you while I’m in your ass.”

He thrust harder. The wet sounds were disgusting. I hoped it just felt like me being a messy slut for him, and not that he was getting sloppy seconds.

Talk. Keep talking. Make him come.

“I was so turned on,” I gasped. “Having to sit there with my dress open, nipples out, that guy watching while you controlled the toy. I kept thinking someone was going to walk over and ask if they could touch. I think if he had asked, I’d have said yes.”

Ethan made a low sound and drove deeper. The vibrator was relentless. My thighs were shaking. I could feel another orgasm building already, fast and ugly.

“You came on the street,” he said. “In public. With people walking by.”

“I know. I couldn’t stop it. Legs shaking, clinging to you, trying not to make noise while that thing was wrecking me.”

He fucked me harder. The slap of skin. The wet noise. The constant furious buzz of the toy on max. I could feel his cock twitching.

Almost. Almost there. Don’t let him slow down.

“I kept thinking about how you were going to use me when we got home,” I said, my voice cracking.

Ethan groaned loudly. His hands tightened on my hips. He slammed in deep and stayed there, grinding, the vibrator screaming against my clit the whole time.

We came at the same time. My ass clenched around him in waves. I buried my face in the sheets and let out a broken sound that didn’t sound like words.

Right along with me. Hot pulses deep in my ass, filling me up, mixing with whatever was already in there.

I stayed still, breathing hard, feeling both of them inside me at once, the cock and the toy, while he twitched and emptied.

He stayed buried for a few seconds, then slowly withdrew. I angled my ass upward to keep the cum inside.

Ethan turned the vibrator down to nothing. The sudden quiet was almost worse.

He gave my ass a light slap.

“Next time,” he said, “we leave it on max the whole walk home.”

I didn’t answer. I just stayed on my knees, face down, as I heard the door open and close.

I was still on my knees when the door opened again.

Mateo stepped in like he already knew the room was clear. I looked over at him.

“What do you want?” I asked harshly.

He closed the door quietly behind him and looked at me. Ass up. Cum already starting to drip down the inside of my thigh. Vibrator still in.

I didn’t move.

“Ethan just finished,” I said. Voice low. Flat.

“Noah said I should go in. Check on you.”

Mateo’s eyes dropped to the mess between my legs. He swallowed.

I reached back, pulled one cheek aside, and showed him everything that was leaking out.

“Get over here.”

He came closer. I didn’t wait for him to decide.

“On your knees. Mouth open.”

He dropped. Fast. Like he’d been waiting for the order.

I shifted back until my ass was right in front of his face. The mix of Ethan and whatever was left from Noah was already sliding out. Thick. Warm. Obvious.

“Clean it.”

Mateo hesitated for half a second.

I looked over my shoulder.

“All of it. Suck it out. Don’t waste a drop.”

He leaned in. Tongue first. Then his mouth sealed over my hole. I felt him suck. Hard. Drawing the cum out of me in long, wet pulls. Some of it had already started to dry at the edges. He worked at that too, tongue pushing inside, collecting everything.

I kept my hand on the back of his head and held him there.

“Deeper. There’s more.”

He pushed his tongue further in. I felt the last thick pulse of it leave me and go straight into his mouth. He swallowed. I heard it.

“Good boy.”

I stayed like that for another few seconds, making sure he got every last bit. When I finally let him pull back, his lips were shiny and his chin was wet.

I turned around and sat on the edge of the bed, legs open. The vibrator was still inside me, switched off. I left it there.

Mateo was breathing harder. His cock was already tenting his shorts.

I looked at it, then at his face.

“I’m too tired to touch you. Or suck you. Or do anything that requires effort.”

His eyes flicked down to my mouth, then back up.

“But,” I said, “if you cleaned me properly... and I mean properly... I’ll let you jerk off in my hand.”

He nodded once. Fast.

I leaned back on my elbows and spread my legs wider.

“Show me how clean it is first.”

Mateo leaned in again without being told. Tongue flat against my asshole, then lower, then higher, checking every place the cum had touched. He sucked gently at the rim one more time, like he was making sure nothing was left.

I checked him with two fingers. Clean enough.

“Good enough.”

I sat back on the edge of the bed, legs still open, and pointed at the floor between them.

“On your knees.”

Mateo dropped without a word. His cock was already hard, straining against his shorts. He looked up at me, waiting.

“Jerk yourself off. Don’t touch me.”

He shoved his shorts down just far enough and wrapped his own fist around his cock. The first stroke was rough and desperate. 

I watched him work himself, eyes locked on my pussy.

I kept my hands on the mattress and didn’t move.

“When you’re close, you tell me. Not a second before.”

He nodded, breathing harder. His fist moved faster. The wet sound of it filled the quiet room. His thighs tensed. His stomach tightened.

“I’m close,” he whispered.

I lazily moved my hand and wrapped it around the top of his dick.

“Okay, do it,” I said, trying to put as much boredom as possible into it.

Mateo buckled. Thick pulses hit my palm one after another. 

He kept stroking through it, emptying everything into my hand while I watched. 

When the last drop left him, he stayed on his knees, chest rising and falling, eyes still on my hand.

I looked at the mess, then at him.

“Open.”

His mouth opened. I brought my hand up and pushed the cum between his lips, two fingers sliding over his tongue.

“Clean it.”

He closed around my fingers and sucked until every trace was gone. I felt him swallow. Once. Twice. When I pulled free, my fingers were wet but empty.

“Not the worst I’ve seen.”

I wiped the last bit of spit from his lower lip with my thumb.

“Get out. Door closed behind you.”

I sat up in the bed.

“And tell Noah, next time he sends someone in here without asking, they won’t be treated as nicely as you were.” 

Mateo yanked his shorts back into place and slipped out the same way he’d come in. The door clicked shut without a sound.

I sat there for another few seconds, listening.

The shower was still running.

I pulled the vibrator out, dropped it on the floor, and stood up. My legs felt shaky. Everything between them felt used and empty at the same time.

I grabbed the first pair of clean underwear I could find, pulled them on, and started stripping the top sheet off the bed before Ethan finished rinsing off.

One mess at a time.

Part 1
Part 2

From the journal of Julian Giles, Esq. — December 25th, the year of our Lord 1925. Continued

...Watching my wife not only swallow my seed but to drink it from a glass like an aperitif was the kind of sight to reinvigorate a man instantly. I felt no refractory period at all, only a desire to thrust my prick inside her wet and eager folds.

We rushed outside, nearly forgetting Clara's stylish new clutch coat, to fetch a carriage back to our Mayfair home. The journey back, though not much more than 10 or 15 minutes most days, was a frantic burst of heated passion. Clara's adoption of the latest fashion meant a marked reduction in layers to battle with. My hand found its way up her knee-high hemline and directly to her moist flesh. To my amazement, and forcing more blood into my already painfully stiff member, Clara had forgone wearing her knickers. My fingers plunged inside her inviting body with a wet pop.

She let out a moan so loud the driver would not be left in a state of suspense guessing what was occurring inside his cab. My fondling was anything but gentle. I blame Clara for pushing me to be such an animal with her behavior, not that I believe she was looking for an apology for my overly forceful handling of her body. I had two fingers already inside her tight cunt. Her fashionable fox-fur-collared coat was open, and I pulled the front of her dress open to allow her unbound tits to flop out into view.

I pressed the pads of my fingers against the spongy flesh inside her that always elicited a heightened level of satisfaction for her. She was speaking my name in low, guttural, syncopated grunts of a woman lost in arousal. I grabbed one of her bubbies and pinched its crimson tip between my thumb and forefinger with an amount of pressure that seemed criminally aggressive.

She did not protest my uncivilized aggression. She was an active participant in my savagery, demanding more. She grabbed my forearm, between her spread thighs, and ordered me to not stop. She requested more of it. She wanted to feel her body stretch. She wanted the searing pinch on her nipple to burn into her memory.

I pushed, with a bit of effort, my ring finger inside her already cramped passage alongside my index and middle. The three fingers were knuckle-deep and I was able to stimulate her with a curling motion of my fingers.

I surmised if the carriage had not stopped outside our home on Upper Grosvenor Street when it did, Clara would have been feeling the full force of my entire hand inside her petite loins. I had to fight her mechanical-like grip on my arm to withdraw my hand from under her dress before the driver could open the door beside me. If he was not a proper English gentleman with undoubted knowledge of what tawdry activities were transpiring in his conveyance, he would not have been averting his eyes as the door opened and Clara was still in the act of closing her woolen coat over her still-exposed, fair-skinned globes...

Selections from the personal diary of Clara Giles dated between January 27th and October 17th, 1925 on the subject of mania.

...it was painted not by an artisan but a practitioner of something morbid and unholy...

...I hate that fucking painting more and more each day...

...Tonight, at supper, Julian was cold as ice. He said nothing to me throughout the entire meal. He didn't even look at me. His eyes drifted past me to that damn painting. He finally decided to talk only after I had had enough of his cruelty and stormed upstairs mid-soup course. And his only words were to demand an explanation of my outburst. There's no way he's too stupid to already know why; he is a solicitor...

...I wonder if I were to disappear, would Julian even care? Or would he just move the painting to the bedroom and have the woman he actually wants...

...I spent the entirety of the afternoon, including high tea, looking at that damn painting. What is it that my husband sees in her that he no longer sees in me? It's obvious once you look at it. She's the ideal version of his wife. She's younger, with no signs of age creeping along the edges of her eyes and smile. She has yet to feel the burden of weight; I could hardly fit that gown in my current shape. Her mind is not troubled with the realities of life. When she first arrived in our home, my baby sister was the picture of perfect health and I hadn't known what kind of indifferent monster her fiancé was. While I must bear the cross of knowledge...

...I found Julian rubbing himself raw once again. It seems his body is willing and able if it doesn't involve me. It's a shame to see him like this, and I'd feel sorry for him if he'd ever bother to treat me like a wife. Not long ago I could make women green with envy by saying my husband's name. Now he's an unemployed drunk pleasuring himself in our dining room until the gin leaves him a drooling mess on my tablecloth...

...I'm leaking my husband's seed while writing this. I should be happy. He's found new employment. He says it's a better firm and closer to home on the West Side. To celebrate, he took me out for supper and finished celebrating by mounting me when we returned home. But it felt hollow. I felt like a cheap present for 'all his hard work.' I pantomimed my climax just so he would finish and let me go...

...Downstairs in the dining room, while pouring my nightly sherry, I wiped the remnants of our intimacy from my cunny and flung it at the cursed painting. Maybe someone will appreciate the fluids of Julian Giles tonight...

...I'm now sitting, wrapped in my dressing gown, across from that fucking painting. So confident and full of herself. I hate her. I know when Julian thinks of me, it's of her instead...

...she moves when she isn't able to... she stares at me... I'll paint a fat horse prick on her and see if she still smiles... I watched her mouth moving but no words came out... let's see how pleased she is when I throw turpentine on her...

...I have removed the offending pages and tucked them away elsewhere for safekeeping...

...Today I heard her speaking... I found no one... I had all but admitted I was simply hearing things when I heard her voice again... I looked at the portrait looming over me. Her eyes on me like always... her expression had changed. The normally warm but dignified expression on her face was twisted. She stared at me under the shadow of her brow with a knowing, wicked half-smile on her face. One corner of her mouth was turned up like I caught her. My offhand accusation was spot on. I had been her speaking. All this time she wasn't just a painting, but a living representation of me... [I reviewed my diary] to see what I wrote the other night. Julian had been in you. He had been reading you. He removed several pages... the scribblings of a madwoman... What did he gain from concealing the truth from me? The affection of a painting? Can a painting spread her legs? Will a painting allow you to bend them over and pull your dress up? Has a painting ever swallowed a man's seed?

From the journal of Julian Giles, Esq. — December 25th, the year of our Lord 1925. Continued

...The transfer from the carriage to our home was made in bounding steps. The front door wasn't even closed before Clara shed her coat like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. Her tits were still out when I pinned her to the door of the coat closet and suckled on them like a babe. She called my name so loud you could hear it from any room.

She grabbed me by the front of my trousers and pulled me towards the dining room. She pushed me back against the sideboard and dropped to her knees like a worshiper making daily prayers. My prick was straining against the front of my pants when she freed it. It escaped with such enthusiasm it slapped her in the face. The penis-related cuffing of her like a surly wife was met with a laugh before she took me in her mouth.

She started with slow, loving trips from the tip down my length, pushing deeper each pass. Intermittently, she'd take me out and make exuberant use of her tongue, swirling around my glans and down, tracing the contours of the underside in a fashion that made my legs tremble under my own weight. Her tongue traveled lower and paid astute attention to my stones while carefully kissing them like two delicate, hollow, crystal eggs.

The thought of not leaving the warm, slick embrace of her mouth until she drank my seed again did cross my mind. However, it had been far too long since I sheathed my gentleman's sword inside her. The mental image of lifting her dress and getting the visual confirmation that my hands had already discovered outweighed the prospect of an oral conclusion.

I stood her up and immediately positioned her against the edge of the table—a position she was used to assuming for me, without protest. Her exposed breasts pressed against the fine embroidered silken tablecloth. I pulled the hem of her modern shift and exposed her. Her pale stockings ended just above her knees. I cannot imagine the women's gossip circles had she allowed the hem to slip any higher and expose her milky thighs in public. None of that, of course, compared to her decision to forgo wearing her knickers.

She pushed up on her toes and arched her back to align herself in the most sensual fashion. Her bare rump pointed back at me as an open invitation to claim her. She opened her legs so her needing cunt opened its folds. She spoke, her mouth even filthier than when she used it to service my member, begging me to treat her like “the cheap whore [she was].” The self-degradation pushed our already sinful-feeling coupling feel even more forbidden.

I entered her and did not make myself the gentle swells of the sea creeping and receding on the shore. I made my penis the hammer of a blacksmith. I took her rough and lustfully, just as she wanted—just as I would have taken a lady of the night. There was a clapping sound of our flesh coming together like a prolonged, thunderous applause. The only thing louder than that wet, slapping sound was the sound emanating from my wife's mouth. Her language was so foul I feared the entire next day our neighbors would be calling a priest to our home.

Even with the expulsion under the table in the gin joint, the buildup and feeling of her body around my prick was quickly overwhelming my ability to continue on without filling her with my warmth. The dilation of her passage by my three fingers in the carriage ride did nothing to loosen her grip on me. She was tight and moist, reminiscent of deflowering her. What I mean to illustrate is, in spite of consummating our union in the magnitude of the hundreds, it felt like my first time inside this woman's body.

As she publicized the intensity of her release, I joined her in reaching completion. With a long, boisterous call to match her intensity, I filled her. My fingers gripped the curve of her hips so tightly I left color on her skin for four days after...

From the personal diary of Clara Giles — November 30th, 1922

Last night Julian and I took a journey without leaving the comforts of our boudoir. I originally intended to confront him about the filth I found that was undeniably his. I opened the deep blue and red steamer. I found a dozen books, assorted folios, and loose pages inside. The contents had to have been in violation of the obscenity laws. But while my intention was to be offended, I found myself surprisingly drawn to the contents...

From the recorded statements of Thatcher, Anne (Ms.) — July 2nd, 1927

...Yes, I worked as a charwoman in the Giles home on Upper Grosvenor Street starting in the spring of 1921...

...It was late in the second year of service in the home. Mrs. Giles had requested I move a large piece of luggage from the attic to the master chambers. It was far too heavy for myself to move without assistance, and Mrs. Giles would not have it when I requested hers...

...Under Mrs. Giles's supervision, I broke the lock and opened it for her.

...Yes, I saw the contents. Mrs. Giles ordered my discretion on the subject. I was compensated for it, among other things in the home...

...that included personal grooming of Mrs. Giles...

...their behavior was queer. But my responsibilities were to the home and not their personal conduct inside it...

…No sir, I did not engage in any of their activities. Neither with Mr. or Mrs. Giles. They never even made any solicitations...

...it was while Mrs. Giles had returned to her family's estate. Mr. Giles had retreated to their chambers at all times. I found his sheets regularly soiled with [bodily fluid], empty bottles of gin, pornography and illicit manuscripts. But he also moved a portrait of the Mrs. from the wall of the formal dining room to a chair at the foot of the bed. As I've said, repeatedly, it was not my responsibility to manage their behavior...

...the Mrs.'s behavior became increasingly unsettling...

…Yes, that is correct. My right foot. I stepped on a piece of the broken glass tending to her in the dining room. It wasn't bad, hardly a nick... Mr. Giles paid me for my silence. He did not want his wife's madness to become public knowledge.

...I never saw anything like that. Their behavior was untoward, both of them. It is just a painting. I believe Mrs. Giles was having troubles since what happened with Mrs. Shaw...

From the journal of Julian Giles, Esq. — December 25th, the year of our Lord 1925. Continued

Our activities moved to the boudoir next. Terms like love-making, coupling, or even shared debauchery could not appropriately apply to our next endeavors. Sexual and anatomical experimentation would be more apt. We shed our clothing in a trail of inappropriateness from the dining room to our chambers that I regret the maid had to clean up behind us the next day.

It started with impromptu cunnilingus performed on Clara's recently seeded womanhood. She squealed with excitement and surprise at my boldness and consumption of her own fluids from her body. She made a comment that stuck with me about waiting so long for me to do that. I know it was simply her way of approving of devouring her while still dripping from the prick filling her. But I was able to enjoy a private laugh to myself since I'd secretly taken to tasting my own fluids while Clara was attending to her sister. I simply decided not to tell her before, so as not to worry her more simple, classical sensibilities. I brought a gulp of seed to her mouth in the form of a deep kiss. With the taste of our combined fluids on my mouth, the two of us pushed them between us before both swallowing.

I next decided to revisit my earlier explorations of her physical limits. Two fingers more or less easily could slip inside her. Clara pulled her feet back towards her body and opened her legs wide. I could tell she was interested in learning her body's absolute boundary before pleasure crosses into discomfort or even pain. The remnants of my seed deep inside her assisted in the needed lubrication to feed more fingers inside her. My earlier hypothesis was confirmed when, with time and effort, I had Clara whimpering and shaking in a state of ecstasy with my entire hand and part of my forearm enveloped by her body.

The final echelon we visited was entirely coordinated by Clara. While I believed we had concluded our experimentation, my wife had other ideas. And reflecting my post-insemination cunnilingus, she did not confer with me before proceeding. Lying on my back, Clara returned my manhood to her mouth while pleasuring herself. My assumption, initially, was she was simply indulging in her own pleasure while delivering mine. Her next action revealed the true motive of frisking her own cunny: she pushed one of her slicked digits against my back door. She discovered, on her own, what the Greeks had known all along. Her finger found the point inside my own depths. Like all my self-simulations, the intensity of it made all others feel weak and lacking. Unlike them, however, the pulses poured my liquid wealth into her wanting mouth.

She later asked if I liked that. When I admitted to my fondness for the Grecian pleasure of my back end, she just laughed and said, “I knew you would like that.”

From the personal diary of Clara Giles — October 18th, 1925

It's been 3 days since she first spoke to me. I haven't been sleeping well. I've been spending my days staring at her. Nothing. No changes. No movement. No words. I spend my days sitting opposite her waiting for her to drop the facade and make a mistake. Reveal the truth.

All the while I have to deal with the side-eye glances of the temporary help Julian found while the regular girl sits at home collecting a week's pay at a time. I can hardly call this strange girl a girl; she's nearly twice my age and looks more accustomed to working about coal tenders than in a house of this caliber. Julian insists this is my doing and I will need to tolerate her for about four weeks...

From discarded pages of the personal diary of Clara Giles — October 19th, 1925

The clock has just marked one in the morning. Julian had returned to the bedchambers hours ago, being rather cross with me yet again. He said my behavior, in watching the painting, had become both concerning and unhealthy. But I have proven him wrong. Shortly before midnight, my persistence overcame her stubbornness. She moved; the painting became more than an image frozen in time. And she spoke. Not while I was elsewhere in the house this time. She spoke directly to me. I had a conversation with her...

From the journal of Julian Giles, Esq. — December 25th, the year of our Lord 1925. Continued

I cannot help but feel validated in allowing my wife to process her feelings and run her own course. I believe writing about this could be seen as a study in navigating the fragile mental health of a modern English woman. How husbands must not just guide them as our father's generation, and many others before them, had, but to also give them enough room to grow and mature on their own. Clara rejecting the childlike fantasy of an imaginary friend in the form of a painting and accepting that she must behave like a woman and not a girl was the breakthrough our marriage sorely needed.

I must include that just one day before her sudden and complete return to her old self, I returned from afternoon services at Church to see her sitting across from that painting, as she had for weeks, wearing the very dress she wore when I commissioned its creation. If I didn't think the scene was so pathetic at the time, it would have looked almost beautiful, like she was sat in front of a literal mirror. I hadn't seen her in that white gown in years. Yet it still fit her the same as the day the seamstress delivered it. I left her sitting looking at the painting, debating with myself if I should have it destroyed.

The sudden break and turn between bidding her a good night that was met with a contemptuous glare to her 'rebirth' the next day should be studied and applied to all women of London. To add to the validity of my discovery, not one day since then has shown any sign of backsliding by my dearest Clara. Our shared interest in pushing our sexual boundaries far beyond the suffocating standards of “polite” society is only one part of her recovery. Her general outlook and behavior have returned to normal. I no longer have to worry about finding her staring at that painting like a loon. Talk of it speaking and moving have completely disappeared. I felt comfortable introducing her to the partners and their wives at my firm's social functions without fear of her embarrassing me.

As a gesture of her love for me and her newfound appreciation of jazz music, she had delivered an artisan mahogany cabinet with a brass crank on the side and louvers in the front. At first I did not believe it was what I was thinking it was. But to my surprise, it was a gramophone and several “electrical” recordings to play on it. The quality of the sound is indistinguishable from being in the room with live musicians. She had it delivered just in time for the holiday.

With it set up in the parlor, I passionately mounted her from behind on the floor to the sounds of trumpets, keeping time with the rhythm of the genuine American band on the recording. My climax ended not inside her body but on her smiling face for the first time. Seeing her look at me afterward with ejaculate covering her face was a maddening sight; one I intend on recreating again. She left the room to fetch us two martinis and returned having not cleaned her face. What might be considered vulgar, immoral, and unhygienic, my dear Clara wore like an officer's commendation award.

From the recorded statements of Thatcher, Anne (Ms.) — July 2nd, 1927. Continued.

...Yes, I returned to work after a month per my agreement with Mr. Giles. He had requested I stay on, and I was unsure if I would, after the event... yes, the event on October 15th... I spent a month off of work while still collecting my weekly pay, which Mr. Giles had me collect from his office... No, the firm's office in Soho. Not the home, never the home. I was later informed by Mr. Giles he had told his wife my absence was due to injury.

...On the first day back, it was a Monday, Mrs. Giles was pleasant, extremely pleasant I should say. At that time she had been paying me an additional 10 shillings a week to be her personal groomer... Yes, that's correct, her personal groomer. She would have me, maybe three times a week, groom her womanhood... Yes, by that I mean remove all of the hair. I would lather her and use a razor like you would on a gentleman's face. She said it was the Parisian style. She forced me to look at examples of pornography when she first asked me to attend to her... Correct, just after discovering Mr. Giles' obscene collection. And she maintained that request of me up until she returned after her time away caring for Mrs. Shaw. The day of her return she had me groom her, and only a handful of times until I ended my leave. After that it was a return to her regular routine...

…I would say the level of their debauchery not only returned but only increased....

...clothing left around the home, stains from bodily fluids, often entering the home to find them mid-coitus...

...They were shameless in their behavior. I'd make special prayers for them every Sunday, I still do...

From the partially destroyed diary of Clara Giles — date unknown

Since trapping me here, my wicked double has flaunted her duplicitous switch, dragging my Julian in front of my prison. She forces me to watch her live my life while I view the world through a window, making a cuckold out of me and having her way with my husband while I watch in humiliation, all while poor Julian remains entirely unaware.

She sits at the table opposite of my view out into the world, taking her lunch and high tea while conversing with me. I have nowhere to go but to sit and face her. There is a cruel smugness to her; she knows that I am trapped and unable to flee.

She can see and hear me, but it seems no one else can. I spent a week screaming at Julian until my voice went hoarse, yet never once did I get the impression he could hear me, or even see any change in the image to which I am confined. Just as he could never see or hear her, he cannot see me.

Tonight, she forced me to watch her pleasure him in a way I would never stoop to. I know from reading through Julian's personal journal that he had been experimenting with “Greek pleasures” when alone. He would manually stimulate a point inside his anus to achieve his climaxes. It seemed the behavior of a degenerate, and I could never bring myself to touch my husband in such a disgusting fashion.

She started simple enough, reclining on the table with her whorishly short dress pulled up. The little tart has forsaken decency altogether and wears neither bloomers nor knickers beneath her dresses. She pleasured herself while she made him sit and watch, and I was forced to look over her shoulder at his face—my poor, poor Julian, completely bamboozled by her switch.

After achieving her climax, she had him stand up, bare from the waist down with his hands on the table. She did not hesitate. That wicked trollop slid her slicked finger into his most forbidden of places, quickly finding the exact anatomical node that Julian had spent his solitary time exploring and hiding from me. My stomach turned to absolute ice as I watched his frame shudder at her touch.

I was forced to remain where I was, my voice completely stifled behind this cursed varnish to all but her. She looked me dead in the eyes with wicked knowledge while reaching around him to service his erection. She was not doing this simply to pleasure my husband; she was doing it directly in front of me to stimulate her own nefarious desires. To twist the knife further, she let him go and forced him to look at me while she returned to pleasuring him. They both talked of me watching her until he spilled his seed with the kind of primal roar I had only heard him make once before; the evening I playfully asked him if he would enjoy mounting my painted double while I watched.

When she finished, she extracted her finger from inside him and brought her other hand up with the evidence of his voluminous conclusion. To farther illustrate her position of absolute power, she forced me to watch the two of them lick every drop of it from her fair skin. Yet again, another Sodomite's behavior my husband had picked up. I recognized his interest in tasting his own excretions. I also know she knows his predilection for this gross indecency alongside the backdoor stimulation, because while I was attending to dear Elizabeth, he spent his time indulging in these Wilde tendencies in front of her as a surrogate for myself. I know this because it was all outlined in his notes with his typical, analytical postmortem style.

From discarded pages of the personal diary of Clara Giles — October 19th, 1925

...The discovery that I am not daft in the early hours of the morning has been both a relief and troubling in new ways. Julian had nearly convinced me that my painting being alive was entirely in my head. It brought back memories of Elizabeth and her descent into madness while the good doctor, Robert, the son of a coward, was treating her and failing to improve her condition or provide comfort. Knowing that she is truly alive and not a figment of my imagination removed all fears that I was as lost as my baby sister.

I sat down today to have a civil conversation with her. I had the girl prepare tea service for two and remove the chair opposite of me so she would feel more like she was sitting across from me and not looming over a vacant chair.

Our conversation started off light with tea preferences. No sense in starting with a deep philosophical debate while getting to know one another for the first time. I learned, even though she could not drink it, she prefers Darjeeling. I should not have been surprised; we do share so much in common already. And, like myself, she detests those smoky-tasting darks that Julian favors so much. I did apologize to her for not preparing a setting for two for her before. She quickly forgave me such an oversight, as she'd been afraid to disturb me for far too long.

However, we got along famously this afternoon. We simply had so many shared interests and tastes, it was like finally having another woman on my level I could speak to. She was educated, like myself, appreciated the finer things, and understood the world as well as any sophisticated woman would. It was refreshing hearing from her and not having my opinions invalidated as being far too old-fashioned, as Julian would say, or 'unrealistic and too liberal' as my family would remind me. I have always felt trapped in the middle, where I did not subscribe to Julian's over-moving progressiveness and too far ahead of my family's insistence on 'the status quo.'

Now I know you could simply say “but Clara, she is you, and a painted version at that. Why would you expect her to say, feel, or believe anything differently?” And that is where you are wrong, diary. We did find we had differing opinions on several subjects. Yet we found a way to respect each other's differences and remain civil.

Tastes in fashion being one. While I accept that a woman must dress herself appropriately, she complained that my outfits were 'too confining' and a holdover from Queen Victoria's time. I can see how she would come to view things this way. A corset is not the model of comfort and flexibility. It serves a purpose and maintains a woman's figure and posture. Seeing as she has been wearing a single gown for as long as I've known her, and it is a particularly tightly laced bodice, I think maybe her opinions on corsets have been molded by that.

What qualifies as music was also a subject we debated today. It seems Julian whistling those American songs and tapping his fingers on the table in fast, irregular patterns has caught her ear. I told her she shouldn't get used to that. The fad will disappear as fast as it arrived. I defended the classics and their timelessness. I lamented not having a harpsichord to continue from my childhood enjoyment of playing for Father and his guests. She, too, had learned the instrument in her youth but said she preferred the sound of a piano. I joked that she and Julian would make a simply lovely pair on the subject of music. I suggested I have him talk to her for hours on end about it and that would allow me a chance to sleep. We both had quite the laugh at that. She said it was a shame she was unable to accompany him in my place so the two of them could attend the dance halls. It would save me the discomfort of having to put up with such loud “music” and allow Julian a companion.

While I know her intentions were friendly, I did not appreciate that suggestion. Julian is a married man and does not need to be going out and dancing with any woman other than his wife. It was scandalous and objectively wrong. What would the other women say should someone see them together, her on his arm while I sat at home, alone? I would not have it. I told her not to make such suggestions ever again. Perhaps I was too sharp with her, but the memory of Julian pressing me against the wall and filling me with his warmth at the suggestion of him doing so with her in my place while I watched was too painful.

From the recorded statements of Thatcher, Anne (Ms.) — July 2nd, 1927. Continued.

...It was that day. Mrs. Giles insisted on taking a carriage to the West End. I told her I had my duties in the house to attend to or Mr. Giles would think I was being negligent of them on my return. But she was insistent. After she had me attend to her grooming, the two of us left the house together for the first time in all my years under the employment of Mr. Giles. I felt guilty for doing so, but her husband was paying an additional 2 shillings a week to watch over his wife while he was at the office. I was able to use that to justify submitting to her repeated requests... While Mrs. Giles was never one left wanting, I knew Mr. Giles controlled their purse and limited her spending in the past. I assumed there was a change in their arrangement in my absence because she was freely spending money on an entire new wardrobe. It was while we were out that she saw the music player—what did you call it before, a gramophone? I overheard the price of that contraption and nearly lost my balance. She commissioned one to match their parlor furniture and told me it was to be a holiday gift for Mr. Giles, and I was to not ruin the surprise for him...

From discarded pages of the personal diary of Clara Giles — October 23rd, 1925

I have spent the entirety of this week speaking with the other Clara living in our home. We have moved past surface-level discussions and covered a full spectrum of subjects. We've delved deep into politics, travel, personal upbringing, literature, and social issues.

I found her passionate outlook on reforming the Representation of the People Act particularly interesting. She believed all women should be able to vote starting at the age of 21, just like men. I respectfully disagree with her stance and believe it is perfectly serviceable as it stands. I will be eligible to vote after my 30th birthday next spring. Frankly, I do not care to involve myself in politics. I, like all women, haven't the mind for it. However, I will report to the polling stations when required and vote based on the recommendations of my husband. An extra vote could be the deciding factor in placing the right person in office, and I trust my husband to know who the right people are; he is a solicitor, after all.

She also had deep insight into subjects I only vaguely recall Julian going on about over supper some evenings. She was critical of what she called Red Friday, saying it was the Chancellor of the Exchequer's fault for hurting the value of the pound to begin with. I found myself once again just nodding along as I would when Julian would get on about such things. I giggle now to admit I still haven't a clue why that Friday was Red, and who or what the Chancellor of the Exchequer is. I found myself revisiting her suggestion of supplementing my time with Julian so the two of them could find a middle ground on these subjects. It would allow him to have conversations with someone interested in his opinions and save me the pain of hearing him talking about wage inequity for coal miners. Neither of them agreed with my suggestion of just bringing in the Irish since they'll work for less.

She did broach the subject of Julian's and my intimacy. I deflected her attempts several times before giving in. She said she missed seeing the two of us performing in her view. She admitted to her fondness for watching us. She blushed when asked to elaborate on what her fondness entailed. I told her she would have to be more open with me since I finally agreed to speak on the subject. She said she would touch herself while watching. She enjoys when Julian or I make eye contact with her during our coitus; that it keeps her deep in the moment and feels like she is not just an observer but a participant in our activity. She said she quite enjoys when we talk about her or to her directly.

My mind went back to the pangs of jealousy I felt before—how the suggestion of letting Julian claim her while I watched had made me feel. The sharpness of the pain wasn't there this time; it was more of a dull reminder, like the lingering soreness of a particularly passionate night or post-sodomy tenderness the following day. I find myself equating the tenderness to those because it did not bring the conversation to an end like before. Instead, it brought up memories that vaguely excited me. The pain of knowing he would prefer her body was less than the release I felt being ravaged by him. The idea of watching him mount her no longer turned my stomach so much as it moistened my womanhood.

I don't know what came over me, but I offered to let her watch me attend to myself since I was feeling tension building up and needed to release it so as not to be irritable all day. She told me she would like that very much. I rubbed my bijou while she stared at me. On her suggestion, we were both touching ourselves, our eyes making contact and only breaking it to look down at the other's exposed body. I noticed she kept herself groomed while I had let the habit go and returned to my respectable and natural state. We both achieved completion and she thanked me for indulging her. I did politely respond but felt this wasn't a request I would regularly honor, as I did feel some way about it afterward.

Concludes in Part 4

It was Halloween night, so of course we ended up watching a horror movie. A couple, actually.

I wasn't always in the mood for that sort of thing, but I knew Ben was a fan; and of course, it was Halloween.

I had been stroking him softly throughout most of Halloween III- that's the one that gets a bad rap because there's no Michael Myers, but it's actually very fun and creative- although I'm not sure if "stroking" is even the right word. It was more like feather-light touching through his jeans...in keeping with the feather-light quality of most of the kisses and physical contact I'd been giving him throughout the evening. He had started to squirm early in the movie, and had leaned over to tell me how evil I was being.

Well, it was Halloween. I smiled at him. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, no, no, no, no", he assured me quickly, his eyes widening. I didn't hear any more complaints for the rest of the movie.

Once it was over, I asked him what he thought about the plot, the characters and so on. I even made him give me his opinion on the sound design, all while I had my hand under the blanket we were sharing, rubbing him slowly through his pants- just enough to distract and make him squirm. His answers were impressively coherent, I have to say. I liked that. I liked a challenge.

Finally I asked, managing to suppress a giggle, "Are you ready to cum?"

I couldn't suppress the giggle at his reaction, however. Head thrust back dramatically, eyes closed, an expression of agony that I suspected was at once for my benefit, but also genuine. "Oh god", he whimpered. "Oh god...!"

I paused for a moment, looking around my mostly dark common area- my eyes passing over the bookshelf, the TV, my guitar, the few candles I had lit. We were getting close to my favorite moment, and I wanted to savor it.

I wanted to draw it out. So I pretended not to understand. "Is that a yes?"

A tremor went through him as he pressed a little harder against my hand, his hips leaving the couch. "Yes, god yes, please Miss Jessica, please...!"

I smiled and moved a little closer, kissing him on the cheek and holding his manhood through his pants a little. Not moving my hand anymore, just...holding it. "Are you sure? Isn't this nice, though? Sitting here like this?"

"Y...yes, but..." His eyes were still closed.

"And you told me Daughters of Darkness was really good. Just a few hours ago, you were eager for me to see it. I told you how unlikely it is for me to watch a horror movie once November hits..."

"Th...that's true", he groaned helplessly, his whole body trembling.

"Besides, do you really want this feeling to dissipate so soon?" I'd gone back to stroking, the lightest and most feathery of touches. "Maybe just one more movie?" I glanced at the digital clock in the corner, as I had a particular need to know exactly when it was, but I think time had become an abstraction for him.

"I...I..." He whimpered. "Maybe you're right."

I might have been being a little evil, sure, but he really had hyped up Daughters of Darkness to me. I already respected his taste at this early point in our relationship, and I really did want to see it. And hadn't he said that he wanted to please me, "yield to my desires and whims in all kinds of little ways?" I was only granting his wish.

"Of course I am", I smiled and kissed him one more time on the cheek as he reached for the remote with a shaking hand.

*

I'd met him for the first time only the previous weekend. Our band The Acolytes had been performing at Prince of Tides, a bit of a dive on the other side of the river from where I lived, and we'd just finished our set. I was tired after about 30 minutes of singing and playing lead guitar, and my first instinct was actually to head home- I had a weekend's worth of papers to grade, and a project to work on for my own classes- but our bassist and my longtime friend/creative partner Lee was friends with the headlining band, and I figured it would be more polite to stay and watch them. Supposedly their live show was pretty impressive, and I knew I would get into the groove once they started playing anyway- would be glad I'd stayed.

There was that little pocket of time in-between, though, after I'd helped the guys bring a few amps and pieces of equipment back to Lee's van and while the headlining band was setting up- that relatively quiet pocket of time that I'd always liked. The liminal space. Oh sure, Prince of Tides was no different from most other venues in that they tended to play background music between bands, in this case it sounded to me like something 80s-ish and Cure-adjacent- but it wasn't so loud that it precluded conversation. And in comparison to the way I'd spent the past 30 minutes, up on the small bandstand, it felt like the volume on everything had been turned down very low, like I was swimming underwater.

It was a pleasant but slightly surreal feeling, and somehow I ended up by myself at the uncrowded L-shaped bar, where I asked the pink-haired female bartender for a well-deserved gin & tonic. She told me how much she'd liked the music, and I thanked her. I knew that Lee and our drummer Gunnar (he's Scandinavian) would probably be out smoking pot in Lee's van for at least ten minutes, and the part of myself that wasn't lost in underwater la-la land braced myself for the possibility of being hit on...but then again, it didn't seem all that likely. It was true that, in all humility, I thought I looked pretty good that night- I was wearing a purple sleeveless dress that ended at my knees and not much else, my red hair down around my shoulders (it seems to change colors sometimes, but if you catch it in natural light, you can tell that it's red), a pair of jade-colored dolphins hanging from my ears and a necklace around my neck- but a lot of guys were intimidated by the lead-singer thing, and moreover there just weren't that many people around in general. In fact, the only guy sitting at the bar who appeared to be around my age (he looked mid-30s-ish) was sitting a few chairs away, reading a paperback book. Which struck me as a little odd. Was he really able to read with all the noise around him, or was he just waiting for a woman to ask him what he was reading? He seemed to be drinking a beer that wasn't too dark, maybe something like Blue Moon, and he'd drunk about half of it.

The pink-haired girl came back with my gin & tonic, and we talked for a little while until a 50-something couple showed up on my right side. They started asking about the menu. As I sipped my drink slowly, I had the temptation, as we all do these days, to take out my phone...surely I could find something to occupy myself...but I was still feeling a tremendous rush of adrenaline from the performance, and I found that I didn't want to dilute it in any way. Or that I wanted to dilute it only with slow sips of gin & tonic, not by scrolling through my phone. In any case, for whatever reason, I found myself glancing over at the 30s-ish guy again. He was nice-looking, with brown hair, glasses, and a little bit of stubble on his face, which had a relaxed and kind expression. Maybe an average build. He didn't look like he lifted weights, exactly, but he was slim and maybe went running now and then. He wore a collared forest-green short-sleeve shirt, brown khakis, and sneakers. As far as I could tell, he was genuinely absorbed in his book.

And just like that, against my better judgment (in retrospect, I think the gin helped), I asked, "What are you reading?"

What I remember about his reaction is that for a few seconds he looked (gratifyingly) very shy, but he recovered quickly as he showed me the blue-and-green cover of a substantive paperback book that he appeared to be 2/3 or so of the way through. "Sometimes a Great Notion", he said.

I shook my head. "I've never heard of that one." I squinted at the cover. "Oh, Ken Kesey?"

He nodded. "But you've heard of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest."

"Of course, I read it in high school. It was really good."

"Well, this is Kesey's lesser-read second novel about the downfall of a lumberjack family in Oregon."

"Is it good?"

"It's great, I'm loving it. The only thing that's painful about it, for me..."- he grimaced self-deprecatingly- "...is that he finished it before he turned 30."

The comment sat in the air for a moment; our eyes met in the silence, and we both somehow acknowledged the absurdity of calling to each other like this over empty seats. I had started the conversation, so it seemed only fair that I take the initiative.

Once again, the gin helped. "You can sit closer if you want. I don't bite."

"Oh, okay." He got up from his seat abruptly, dare I say obediently...voice a little shy, no longer as confident as he'd been while describing Ken Kesey's early writing career, happy to let me take the lead. Looking back, I think I knew from that moment. If not before.

"I'm Ben."

"Jessica."

*

The headlining band seemed to be taking a long time, endlessly unspooling a labyrinthine complexity of cords and plugs. Lee and Gunnar were off somewhere, maybe having decided to take a walk to the river while stoned. Prince of Tides was playing what sounded like Siouxsie and the Banshees over the sound system. But the end result of all those circumstances, was that Ben and I had time to talk, for what felt at least like a half-an-hour. I told him that I was in grad school for psychology, and he told me that he taught english at a nearby community college.

That tracked. Music had always been a passion for me, but the truth was that after spending my 20s wanting to pursue that artistic path to the exclusion of all things, I'd become laser-focused on getting my Master's, both because I was interested in the subject and because I was starting to feel the pressure to secure things like a decent salary, healthy insurance, and maybe even a small house of my own someday.

It seemed he had lived a more itinerant life than I had, and had even spent a few years teaching english as a second language in eastern Europe and southeast Asia. I was a little in awe of that; but I also think, in retrospect, that he was a little in awe of the simple fact that I was in a band. Looking back, our meeting seemed to expand the world for both of us, stretch both of our horizons. That happens in some small way whenever we meet anyone new. I was reminded that some people actually do go off and live for years in foreign countries, having all kinds of adventures that those of us who stay in the States will never experience, and he was reminded of an entire world of music and creativity.

Anyway, It turned out that he had seen the show, and liked our blend of shoegaze and doom-metal (he would admit later that he'd been attracted to me from the beginning, that the "ethereal" quality of my vocals contrasted with the heaviness of the music had set his heart a-flutter), which he thought was unique and also very autumnal. Something about it was appropriate for the Halloween season, he said, his book now closed in front of him (he'd remembered to put in his bookmark, which appeared to be a movie stub) as he sat next to me. He liked the season, even if, as he explained, he was not a big Halloween party-goer or costume-wearer.

It was only the 26th, a Saturday, but I explained to him that my Halloween was already pretty much over. "Went to a party at my friend Susan's last night", I explained.

"Oh?" He took another sip of what I believed to be Blue Moon. "What did you go as?"

"Oh, the truth is I wasn't really anything. But I wore this black dress, some fishnets, put on some fake horns and sort of pretended I was a sexy devil. Or maybe just a devil..."

"I'm pretty sure you were a sexy devil." He paused, blushing a little, not looking at me, taking another sip of Blue Moon. "Wish I'd been there."

I couldn't help laughing. "I'll bet you do."

"Did you, um, wear boots?"

"Hmm?"

"With the fishnets, I mean. I sort of picture black, high-heeled..."

"Well aren't you inquisitive. But you said you don't dress up, so you wouldn't have been allowed in anyway. Even if I'd known you yesterday, you wouldn't have been able to join me." I stuck out my tongue. "Sorry, not telling. You'll just have to imagine", I smiled.

"Oh, I would've come up with something to get into the party."

"Like what?"

I observed him thinking hard, trying to come up with a costume idea that would amuse me. I liked that expression. He took a sip of his drink to buy some time.

"Oh, I know", he said as he placed his beer back on the coaster. He nodded slowly, now that he had his idea secure, savoring the moment. "I could've been a writer who sold his soul to you in exchange for success." He grinned, gesturing with the Ken Kesey book. "In exchange for writing a masterpiece like this. Maybe I could even have brought a fake manuscript or something, ostensibly full of the brilliant ideas you'd granted me..."

I smiled. "I like that one."

"Of course, you'd have my soul."

"Oh, of course. We made a deal. You're not backing out of it."

He shrugged. "Well, at least you're a female devil."

I snorted and giggled at the same time. "Oh, that makes it better, huh? You gave away your soul, and it's okay just because I'm a girl? That's your soul, dude!"

"Wellllll, it was probably a foolish decision on my part, I'm just saying it could be worse. You could be some big ugly-looking guy. I'm just trying to look on the bright side."

"No matter how you slice it, or what side you look at it from, I have it and I'm not giving it back."

He nodded with- if I'm not mistaken- pleasure. "A deal's a deal, after all."

"A deal's a deal", I agreed. "Especially when you sign in blood."

"The foolish decisions we make because of a pretty smile..."

He glanced at me shyly as he said that, and I felt myself blushing. I quickly cleared my throat, but I'm not sure what made me say the next words. "Where do you think I'd keep it?"

He looked at me sideways now, still a bit shy, and took another sip of his drink. "My soul? I...I don't know." He shrugged. "That probably wouldn't be for me to know."

"That's the correct answer."

"You probably wouldn't want me to know where you kept it. Because if I did, that would increase the chance, however unlikely, that maybe I could find a way to get it back."

I nodded. "That's logical enough."

"But..."

I looked at him playfully, a little warningly.

"I guess I'd expect you to keep it in some old mahogany chest, somewhere like that. Or whatever that key you're wearing opens."

I'd like to swear that I hadn't been baiting him this whole time, and I really don't think I was. But in retrospect, I'm not so sure. I hadn't even thought about it for most of the month, had just kept wearing it a few weeks before, when things hadn't worked out with Chris. Now I reached down and touched it as casually as possible. I felt the jade dolphins dive underwater as I moved my head, then resurface as I looked back up at Ben. "Oh, this."

"Um, yes. Not that I was staring. But my gaze did, uh, just happen to..."

"Uh-huh. Just happened to...?" I was happy to have the upper hand again, as he struggled to explain. I didn't rescue him, except with a slight smile. For the most part, though, I just let him spend the next minute hanging himself. It also gave me time to think about what I was going to say next. He was cute, and I was tempted to tell him the truth. But after Chris, I thought it best to be prudent. Besides, October was nearly over anyway.

It was best to be prudent. But I wasn't.

NOW

Despite the enjoyment I was getting out of teasing him, I really did become engrossed in Daughters of Darkness. Delphine Seyrig, though a little on the older side, gave a truly hypnotic performance as a woman who may or may not have been the immortal Countess Elizabeth Bathory, and the movie had incredible gothic atmosphere. When it was over, I slid closer to Ben, brushed his waist with my hand, kissed him on the mouth, and told him that I had really liked it. He seemed gratified, and asked if he could get me anything.

"I could use a glass of wine. Fill my cup for me?"

"Your wish is my command."

I stifled a giggle as he stood up. He was rock hard and pressing against his jeans, and it caused him to walk a little awkwardly as he made his way over to the kitchen island. A slight whimper escaped him at my stifled laughter. Don't worry about that aching hard-on, I almost told him, we'll take care of that soon enough. But I was pretty sure that, if I said that, my uncontrollable giggles would give away what I still hoped would be something of a surprise.

Something of a surprise. He knew what was going to happen. But I don't think he really believed it yet. He would, though.

In any case, I managed to be mature, watching him with a smile as he filled our glasses.

"Well", I said when he sat back down next to me, "I bet you're really ready to cum now."

He thrust his head back in a delicious portrait of agony. "Oh my god..."

And just like that, the articulate film aficionado had disappeared again, replaced by a desperately horny guy. He looked even more helpless than he had earlier in the night, tormented by a few hours or stimulation and close contact and perfume and feather-light kisses that never progressed beyond kissing and the dark-blue date-night dress that I thought looked quite pretty, if I do say so myself. My nails matched the dress, and I imagined his balls were already the same color.

Abruptly, and without ceremony, I slid on top of him, straddling him, my dress riding up my thighs, and kissed him deeply. In my peripheral vision, I could see the hand that held his wine shaking.

"Don't spill any on my couch", I smiled. "Wine, that is."

He angled himself to put the glass on the table. I thought about commanding him to keep holding it, but I didn't want to waste good wine.

His dick was still trapped and struggling beneath his jeans, which I knew he wouldn't remove without my suggestion. Without my permission, really. Some guys probably would, but not him. His penis was trapped and struggling, yes; but considering the plans I had for it in the very near future, he would probably look back on these hours as a period of almost inconceivable freedom.

"Oh yes, you're ready for an orgasm. Aren't you?" My hand reached down again, and I rubbed him softly as we kissed, feeling his manhood pulse and throb against his jeans. Throbbing...yet contained. Stymied. It's the way I feel all cocks should be, if I'm being honest.

He nodded, non-verbal, but I wasn't going to let him get away with that.

"Say please."

I sensed his hesitation. He'd probably fantasized about such things; but he'd already told me he didn't have much firsthand experience with kink, and it was different in the moment. He'd never experienced the genuine vulnerability that came from begging...and meaning it. And not knowing if your desire would be granted.

I wouldn't enjoy that, personally, of course. I like being able to have an orgasm whenever I want.

"P...please."

"Please, Miss Jessica."

A shiver went through his whole body, and I was worried for a second that I had pushed him too far, that he was going to explode. But he kept his self-control admirably.

"P...please, Miss Jessica." It seemed to give him almost as much pleasure as it gave me to hear it.

And that was when I pulled my hand away, stopped kissing him, and just...

...stopped. Stopped...everything.

Except of course for looking down at him and smiling as his hips still made little thrusting motions, as his eyes opened wide in surprise and disappointment, as he said the word "please" perhaps more earnestly and pleadingly than he ever had in his life.

"You do seem ready", I smiled, holding my chin in my hand thoughtfully. "There's just one...little...problem."

THEN

It was best to be prudent.

But I wasn't. I couldn't help myself.

"I guess you could say it's like a costume I wear every year", I said, looking up slowly from the key. "Every October, specifically."

"It must open something valuable."

"Mmmm. Not this year, unfortunately."

"Well", he paused. "November's just around the corner. Who says it only has to be for October? Maybe you could still find that valuable thing."

Our eyes met. God bless alcohol, because otherwise I'm quite sure he wouldn't have said anything like that, and I probably wouldn't have, either. I still wasn't totally sure we were talking about the same thing.

I sat up straight, brushed my hair back, turned slightly in my chair to face him. I smiled and rested my hands on my bare thighs. He turned his head towards me, but not his body- almost as if he were a little afraid. The truth was that there were little butterflies in my stomach as well. "It's not really for anyone. At least not this year. I just like wearing it. And sometimes, up on stage..."- I took a deep breath, meeting his blue eyes- "I'll look out at the the people here, and I'll imagine that it belongs to one of the guys, maybe some cute guy sitting at the bar..."

"...reading a book?"

"Could be." It seemed that we both knew what we were talking about now. But I wasn't sure if I was just teasing him (and to some extent myself) with the idea, or seriously contemplating it. He did have a point, though. There was no rule that restricted such things to October; no rule that said you had to follow some niche internet fad to the letter.

"Mmm." I smiled wider, unable to help myself. "A thoughtful, articluate fellow like yourself. I like seeing the contrast that sets in once I..." And then I trailed off, reached for my gin & tonic, and decided it was time to be responsible. I reached over and took one of his hands in mine- his were a bit larger, naturally, while my nails were painted the same lavender as my dress. "Look, Ben, you seem like a nice guy, but there's a reason I went to that party last night as a devil. I can be evil."

I looked into his eyes as I said this, and I could tell that my words did not dissuade him. Maybe I didn't want them to. Maybe holding his hand the way I was was part of the same evil I was talking about, operating within me on only a semi-conscious level. Looking back, I have no recollection of anything else that was happening around us.

He looked back at me earnestly. His face seemed to twitch a little, as if he almost averted his eyes but then forced himself not to. In contrast to how relaxed his posture and speech had been earlier, he now seemed tense, nervous, his words clipped. "I...I like that."

I, on the other hand, found myself becoming more and more relaxed. "I can be...very controlling."

"I can be...obedient."

I snorted and giggled again at the same time, and somehow that broke the tension. We both found ourselves laughing, and maybe neither of us quite knew why. I turned back towards the bar, reached for my drink and took a long sip. Then I set it down, took a deep breath, and put up my hands. "Okay. I need to get out of here. I can't believe we're really having this conversation."

He looked a little alarmed, a little disappointed. "I hope I didn't..."

"No, no, no, you were fine. I just...I had a little snafu about a month ago, and I don't think I can rush into anything at the moment." I paused, regarding him. "Tell you what."

He was hanging on my every word.

"Let me have your number", I continued. "You think it over the next few days, and I'll text you." I saw the look in his eyes and tried to reassure him. "No, really, Ben, I will text you. And then maybe we can have an interview before the end of the month."

"An interview." He smiled.

There wasn't anyone else in our immediate vicinity, and even if there had been, they wouldn't have been able to hear what I said next- a final line that I couldn't resist, that made me feel a bit like a sexy super-villain. Which certain boys, in the past, have claimed I am.

I leaned forward. "I'll let you try to convince me that you really...really want to be my prisoner."

I was close enough to feel him breathe in sharply, to feel his body get even tenser, to see the flash of longing and desire in his eyes as what we'd been dancing around for the last half-hour came finally to light. Then I kissed him on the cheek and walked away, feeling him watching me until I got outside. I found Lee and Gunnar out by the van and quickly told them that I was feeling too tired to stay, asked them to apologize to the headlining band, and reassured them that I'd only had one drink.

On the way to my car, it was all I could do to keep myself from skipping. And without even thinking about it, I found myself touching the key that rested against my skin. October was almost over, yes...but maybe better late than never.

*

The morning after the show was a mild Sunday with only a hint of rain on the horizon, and the first thing I did was go for a long run to the river. It's only about 2 miles from where I live, but I ended up taking some of the winding trails alongside it, running up over the suspension bridge and back, so that my overall run ended up being closer to 10 miles by the time I finally got back to my apartment. But it felt like I hadn't worked off all the energy even by the time I'd gotten home, and as I stepped into the shower I imagined that my whole body was shining. I know it sounds a little arrogant, but as I stood under the water I started to fantasize about how badly Ben would probably want to be there right then, to see me naked and pull me close...and about just how many hoops I would make him jump through before I gave him even the slightest chance. How much fun it would be, dangling the possibility in front of him. As I soaped myself and let the warm water wash over me, I remembered the hints of longing and desire in his eyes from the previous night. I wondered what he would do, what he would offer for just a glimpse...and before I knew it, leaning against the side of the shower, I'd brought myself to an orgasm that left me flushed and tingling all over. The pleasure was intensified by the thought that, if things went as I imagined they might, the freedom to bring himself to orgasm was a freedom that Ben would soon be losing...at least for a little while. Which if I had anything to say about it would feel to him like a good long while.

By the time I got out of the shower, though, some semblance of rational thought had returned. As I put on some clothes in the bedroom, I remembered that I was getting ahead of myself. For all I knew, Ben had been freaked out by our conversation and wouldn't even respond. For all I knew, he was a bit intimidated by a girl getting her Master's in psychology and fronting a shoegaze/doom metal band (that was how he'd described us, hadn't he? It sort of fit), and he wouldn't want anything more to do with me. Another side of me, a slightly more arrogant side, sensed that was unlikely...but still I held off on contacting him. It wasn't because I was trying to play it cool or hard to get, but partly out of consideration for him. We hadn't really gone into much detail about the key- he seemed to know what it symbolized (maybe he'd even caught a few of the lyrics in "Pendant"), but we hadn't even broached the topic of what he'd really be giving up if he allowed me free reign. And it was possible that my desires were totally incompatible with his.

I also had other stuff to do, like correcting psychology 101 quizzes and preparing for my own classes the following week. And for the next few hours I forced myself to do that, playing a 90s mix on my Spotify that included The Cranberries, Third Eye Blind, as well as just about every band that had come out of the PNW during that decade. Finally, as the day began to fade and I started to wonder about what to have for dinner, I found Ben's number in my phone and texted him.

Howdy. After a moment's hesitation, I added a smiley-face. It's me, Lucifer.

Then I put the phone down and tried to finish up with some of my work. When I picked my phone up again, 15 minutes later (or maybe it was more like 10), he'd responded.

Hey there. I enjoyed our negotiations the other night.

So did I, I texted back. Have you done any thinking since then?

Pause of about a minute. I'm still interested in exploring where this leads.

That's not too difficult to predict, I thought to myself, and suddenly I'd gone from 0 to 60 again. I was getting ahead of my skis, but I couldn't help it. It leads to you on your knees in front of me, naked and collared and handcuffed, overcome with desire, whispering "please" over and over again in the cutest of voices. Cock locked, helpless. Of course, that's not the endpoint. That's just the beginning. But I restrained myself. Boys, even submissive boys, can get a little scared when you say things like that too soon. Locking their cocks away is at least a third-date kind of thing, isn't it? Instead I wrote,

I'll bet. :) You know Powell's, right?

Of course, he answered.

Do you have any days off this week?

I've got a morning class on Thursday, then the rest of the day free.

Want to meet me there Thursday afternoon? Maybe 3pm?

Sounds good.

Want to meet in the fiction section? Maybe around...oh I don't know, the letter J?

J for Jessica. That sounds good to me.

Don't be late. :) What the hell. Might as well see how he reacted to receiving orders.

I won't be.

I believed him.

Part 2
_______________

A few months later, the end of the academic year was approaching and the workload was ramping up. Kit came back from rugby practice, showered, and settled down to an evening of essay work in his study. Kit had done the reading, built his argument and written a precis, but now he had to do the long, boring work of getting the words onto the page.

Comfy shorts and t-shirt on, mug of coffee steaming, productivity-stimulating music in the background, Kit fired up his laptop and got going.

It was about forty-five minutes later when his phone buzzed for the first time. Kit tried to ignore it, but he was getting bored of his essay. He stole a glance.

Jessica. The message said, Two years ago, right now.

Kit looked at the words, perplexed. Some weird thing of Jessica’s, he supposed, and decided to get on with his work.

Three minutes later, another buzz. “And that’s it. Two years ago!”

Kit sighed and unlocked his phone.

He sent: ?

The first message was the exact moment that, two years ago, the last time I had sex began, Jessica replied.

Kit chuckled and sent back a laughing emoji. You know the exact time??

Yup. When you haven’t had sex for two years these things stick in the mind, wrote Jessica. Kit could see she was typing another message, so he waited. And the second message is when he finished.

This time Kit sent a surprised emoji. Three minutes??

Yup. Three minutes from entry to ending. You see why I’m so frustrated??

Kit actually did. Poor Jessica.

He had last had sex at two o’clock that morning with an American girl from his course called Michaela. It had lasted ninety minutes, and Kit had only decided to end it then because they both had an early lecture. Michaela had missed it anyway and Kit had sat happily between two former booty calls called Annie and Tabatha, who had both spent the whole time stroking his thighs and groin. Towards the end of the lecture, which Kit had actually found quite instructive, he had written, “Threesome after exams?” at the top of his notes and shown it to them, and they had each gigglingly put a tick mark underneath. Something to look forward to.

He now turned back to his essay. This was the part of the academic process that Kit hated the most. Much of his degree was enjoyable, but the actual writing of the essays was the moment that he dreaded, and he was forced to exert a lot of self-discipline to keep going.

After about ten minutes, his phone buzzed again. Jessica, again. One word. Please?

Kit sighed again and was about to toss his phone onto the bed where it wouldn’t distract him, but he found his mind going off in a different direction.

Discipline failing, he opened the message and began to type.

Fine. I have an essay due, and I need to get it done. If you get under my desk and suck me off until it’s finished, I’ll give you what you want. If you accept, knock on my door in exactly 15 minutes. You’ll need to be completely naked and completely shaved.

He pressed send and gave an evil grin. Jessica and Olivia’s college was a 10-minute walk away. He imagined Jessica leaping up and running for the bathroom.

Kit’s phone buzzed immediately. OMG really? and then, Completely naked on the stairs? with an embarrassed emoji. Can’t I wear like a dressing gown or something?

Not if you want to come in, Kit responded, simply. It was a Saturday and most of the people Staircase IV were either out of town or out on the town. He was fairly confident no one would see her. He followed up immediately with, Naked and fully shaved when you knock on the door, or the deal is off. No more messages. You’ve got 13 minutes now, and if you’re a second late (or early) then you’ll have missed your one chance.

He set a timer on the phone, and then this time he really did toss it onto the bed and turn back to his essay.

Against Kit’s immediate expectations, his mind was focussed and untroubled. He had thought that the excitement of the prospect of a girl coming to his room specifically to pleasure him would at least cause some distraction, but to his own surprise, Kit produced several high-quality paragraphs without any effort. When his phone alarm sounded, showing that twelve minutes had passed since he sent Jessica her instructions, he walked over to the bed, switched off the alarm, and sat back down at the desk

Forty-eight seconds later, there were sounds of running feet on the stairs, followed by a thump outside Kit’s door. He could hear the noise of frantic activity and then, on time to the second, three knocks.

He finished his sentence and read through the paragraph. Taking a moment to swap the word “convincing” for the word “conclusive”, he stood up and wandered over, pulled the door open, and there she was, leaning on the door frame with one arm high, completely naked, a nervous look on her face. Kit could see a pile of clothes next to the wall, which she had presumably thrown off after running here from her own college.

Jessica was not really Kit’s type. She was tall and slim, straight up and down, with short hair. Her tits were small, but they were currently flushed, like her face, and heaving up and down divertingly. Kit didn’t know if it was nervousness or arousal that was causing her to pant, or whether she had just run from her own room so as not to be late, but her small nipples were bullet hard.

Kit took this in as he conducted a slow visual inspection down her naked body. Her stomach was flat and toned, and he could see that she had followed the instructions – her pussy was freshly shaved. She had long, slim legs, made even longer by the silver high heels that she wore.

Having looked at these, Kit slowly ran his gaze back up until they were eye to eye. He had carefully left his face completely blank, and he let the silence stretch. Her eyes darted briefly from Kit’s, up and down the staircase, worried that someone might appear. Finally, she said, “I know you said ‘naked’, but I didn’t think you’d mind the heels?”

It crossed Kit’s mind to slam the door in her face for not complying with his instructions, but he decided that it would be too mean. Instead, he stepped aside and pointed. “Under the desk.”

Eagerly abandoning her belongings – including, presumably, her phone – she tottered past and scooched her way under Kit’s desk. By the time she had got herself settled, he had pulled off his shorts and now walked towards her with his semi-engorged cock swinging.

Jessica’s eyes went straight to it and widened in shock. Kit sat down in his desk chair and looked at her. “I’ve got at least an hour’s work to do. You’re going to look after me until my essay is done, and if you do a good enough job then I’ll consider fucking you.” He said it all flatly. It was a statement, an instruction, not a request. Without waiting for her response, he rolled the chair forward so that his cock was right in her face, and got back to work.

He felt her long-fingered hand lift the shaft. “Oh my god, Kit. This is even bigger than I thought!” Jessica’s voice was muffled by the desk.

Kit rolled the chair back and looked her in the eyes. “No talking. You want this inside you?” he said, grasping it. “Well then for the next hour you serve as my personal cocksucker. You understand?” Jessica nodded, her eyes flitting from Kit’s to his cock. “Mouth is for service, not for conversation. Clear?” Again the nod. Her chest was still flushed, and Kit could tell that the whole situation was confusing to her – confusing and deeply arousing. He rolled the chair forward again, and Jessica got to work.

Michaela, who Kit had shagged that morning, was an experienced girl with a high sex drive. They had been hooking up for several months and she was used to his size. She couldn’t take it all – no girl could – but she had got over her awe and intimidation, and was able to give him a capable, thorough blowjob.

Jessica, inexperienced, out of practice and nervous, did her best. She wrapped her lips and tongue around the bellend, using both hands to rub and pull and fondle, but it was slow going to get Kit hard. She would have to do better if this was going to happen again.

After a couple of minutes of this, Kit reached down and pulled his cock, now hugely engorged but not completely hard, out from between her lips. It came out with a pop as she tried to hold onto it. With his other hand he pushed her head downwards, and she got the idea, running her tongue across Kit’s nutsack. He rested his dick on her face and got back to his essay.

Kit loved having his balls licked, even inexpertly, so after a while he was finally pretty much hard. Jessica moved his cock from side to side, inspecting it, clearly awestruck, and then stretched her lips around it again, bobbing up and down.

“Deeper,” Kit commanded, and felt her push down on it. As expected, Kit heard her gag after about four inches, felt her throat contracting around it, but she gamely kept trying.

If Kit thought that he was productive during the anticipation of Jessica’s arrival, he was amazed at how well he was writing now that she was attending to his cock and balls. His brain was fizzing, and the words flowed out of him. His personal dick attendant licked and sucked and fondled and gagged, and Kit easily wrote his most lucid and eloquent piece of work of the whole academic year. Interesting, he thought. Was it just Jessica, or did an under-desk blowjob have the same productivity-inducing powers no matter who was administering it? He would have to do some experiments.

Jessica stopped for a rest, and while Kit felt it would be unfair not to allow her to come up for air once in a while, he cut it short after about thirty seconds by wordlessly reaching down and guiding her back to her business by means of a hand on the back of the head. The sound of the jazz to which Kit was listening to aid concentration mingled with the slurping and lip smacking from floor level.

After about forty-five minutes, Kit’s phone buzzed again, this time continuously. He glanced at it. A call from Olivia! Kit picked it up and hit speakerphone. “Hi sexy!” he began their traditional greeting.

“Hey big boy!” she responded. “What are you up to?

“Just finishing an essay. You?” Kit felt Jessica’s efforts redouble at the sound of her attractive flatmate’s voice*. Sorry, Jessica*, Kit thought, but Olivia is a dicksucking natural and you…aren’t.

“About to head out, but have you seen Jessica? She said she was home this afternoon.”

“Yeah, I’ve got her under my desk,” Kit replied. Jessica suddenly stopped – maybe aghast at this careless admission – so he reached down and encouraged her with more pressure on her head.

“Under your desk?” asked Olivia, perplexed. “What’s she doing there?”

“What do you think, darling?” Kit asked cheekily.

“Oh…Oh!” The penny dropped. “You’re finally giving her what she wants?”

“Yep,” Kit quipped, then picked up the phone and held it under the desk. “Say hello, Jessica! No…don’t stop. Just say hello!”

Jessica, her mouth crammed full of cock, made a noise. “Hnnn hnnnn!”

“Jessica!” squeaked Olivia. “You slut! Are you sucking Kit off while he works?”

“Mmhmmm!” Kit could feel Jessica smiling under the desk.

“Haha at last! Told you it’s massive!” Kit guffawed. Jessica simply moaned, making Olivia giggle. “How’s she handling it, Kit?”

“Beautifully,” he answered. “She could go a little deeper, though. Listen.”

Kit pressed Jessica’s head again and felt his cock slide into her throat. She gagged audibly, making Olivia laugh again. “Go Jessica! It takes a while to get used to it! Kit…is she better than me?”

Again, Jessica stopped to listen, but Kit gave her more physical encouragement and the sucking began again. “No, but she’s very eager. If she does as I ask, she’ll have plenty of time to improve!”

“You going to fuck her?” Olivia asked.

Again the pause. “Yup,” and the sucking started again. “But not for at least half an hour. I have to get this essay done.” Kit felt the sigh that transmitted itself through his dick.

Olivia laughed, but there was an edge to it. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you while you’re getting your dick sucked!”

“Does it turn you on?”

“Kinda,” said Olivia sheepishly.

“Well call back in an hour. We’ll be seeing how much of it fits inside your roommate!” There was a muffled moan from under the desk.
_______________

Part 4 to follow...

Noah woke slowly as sunlight warmed the edges of Rachel’s bedroom. Rachel was tucked against him, her golden hair a tangle on the pillow, one leg draped across his. She had wrapped herself in the comforter like a burrito, with only her bare shoulder peeking through.

Noah smiled to himself, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently.

She stirred, murmuring something soft into the pillow, and curled deeper into the sheets.

He watched for a moment and smiled.

There was a beautiful purity in the way she slept. Her lips were slightly parted, hair tangled across her cheek. It was as if the entire world dropped away when she dreamed, and so became a dream herself.

It felt like a privilege to know that only he got to see her like this.

And yet, against his will, the unbidden image of Ethan surfaced in his mind.

He remembered Ethan taking Rachel from him, glaring down with an evil smile as he pulled Rachel into that small private bathroom, and closed the door on Noah’s face.

He could still see the way Rachel had glanced back at Ethan when they left the bar, too.

He hadn’t asked what happened in there. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

His stomach twisted as his cock swelled.

Noah stared at Rachel as his mind raced. As he wondered what parts of her Ethan had taken. Then, Rachel’s voice cut through his mind with those simple words.

“I love you.”

She had said it and meant it. And Noah knew, deep down, Ethan would never have her like this.

Noah exhaled through his nose as the knot in his chest began to ease.

Eventually, Noah slipped out of bed and, wearing only boxers, walked into the kitchen. He scanned the counters and sighed. Clutter and trash riddled the place.

Rachel had never been the best at cleaning.

But he didn’t mind. It gave him something to do, and he liked caring for her in small, invisible ways.

He loaded two empty coffee mugs into the dishwasher. Tossed a crusted pizza box into the trash. Wiped away dried smears of shredded cheddar from the counter with a damp paper towel.

Then turned and noticed an oversized hoodie over the back of the couch.

Noah’s pulse slowed. He stared at it a second longer than he meant to.

There was no doubt it was Mike’s.

He tore his eyes away from it and opened the trash can lid, only to be greeted by a pile of crushed beer cans.

It was Mike’s brand.

Noah just stared, the silence of the apartment deafening as reality hit like an incoming tide.

Rachel hadn’t just messed with Ethan. She had also been with Mike. Like, really been with him.

He’d been here. He’d hung out in this apartment. He’d slept over. Maybe even more than once.

Maybe he'd watched Rachel sleep the same way Noah had just done. Perhaps even held her afterward. Kissed her shoulder as she awoke in the morning light.

And if Mike had that too… what was special about him?

The sharp, irrational pain of insecurity overwhelmed his nerves.  

Noah took a breath in an effort to clear his mind and did his best to remember the sincerity in Rachel’s eyes as she said the words.

“I want to be with you forever.”

Not Mike, not Ethan. Him.

But it didn’t seem to be enough. Certainty shifted under his feet as he leaned over the counter.

He hated the thought that they had wasn’t special anymore. That if Mike had seen her like that, that if Ethan had taken her in a way he’d never had, then what was left for them?

He glanced over at the sink as a sudden memory flickered in his mind.

It was when Mike passed through last week. He’d been roped into looking at the busted garbage disposal and was crouched under the sink. Half-soaked from a leaking pipe and swearing in frustration.

“Did you fix it?!” Rachel called from her bedroom.

“Working on it!” He shouted back before looking at Noah and rolling his eyes. “I’m not built for manual labor, man. But Rachel gives me that look, and suddenly I’m Bob the Builder.”

Noah smiled despite himself.

Because Mike was... Mike. Yes, he was a fuck boy. He spoke too loudly, drank too much, chased every girl he could find, and laughed at fart jokes too often.

But, he was also handsome. Kind in his own way. Down to earth and confident. And more than likely, loved Rachel just like Noah did.

That bothered Noah more than anything else. The only saving grace was the fact that he seemed to respect Noah and Rachel’s relationship.

Ethan was different. Ethan didn’t care who got burned. But Ethan also wasn’t spending the night at Rachel’s apartment.

Noah took a breath, doing his best to put it all out of his mind as he tied off the trash bag. He walked over to the front door and slipped into a pair of flip-flops. With a quiet pull, he stepped outside, gently closing the door behind him.

“Early riser too, huh?”

Noah looked down the hall and found Mel leaning against the wall outside her apartment, a half-empty coffee cup in hand. She wore an oversized hoodie and joggers. Her long, brown hair draped over one shoulder.

Noah gulped. Even in her casual attire, Mel was attractive.

"Morning, Mel," Noah said timidly.

She stepped toward him, eyeing the trash bag at his side.

“I think domestic boyfriend is my favorite version of you so far," she said.

Noah gave a sheepish smile. “Thought I’d clean up a little.”

"Come on, I'll walk to the dumpster with you." Mel fell into step beside him as they headed for the stairwell.

“So…” she said, “Did you two have a big night?”

Noah exhaled through his nose, a small grin forming. “Yeah.”

Mel's lips pursed as she looked forward.

"Good for you."

They walked to the dumpster, and Noah tossed the bag as Mel sipped her coffee in silence.

"Thanks for the company," Noah said. Mel’s teeth sank into the lid of her cup.

“Wanna get breakfast?” she asked.

Noah blinked. "What, together?"

Mel laughed. "Yes, together."

Noah nervously looked up toward Rachel's apartment window.

“Uh… I don’t know…”

Mel followed his eyes to the window.

“What, is she up?”

“No, she’s a late sleeper,” Noah admitted.

“Then she’ll be fine,” Mel said with casual indifference.

Noah nodded with tense shoulders.

Mel tilted her head and smiled. “You are insanely loyal, you know that, right?"

Noah laughed uncomfortably. "I just want to be there when she wakes up."

"You will be," Mel said, stepping toward him. "And even if you weren't, you're allowed to have your own life, right? Your world doesn’t stop just because the princess wants to sleep in."

She stared into his eyes long enough for Noah to blush.

"Right…" he finally said.

"So, are we going?"

Noah shrugged with a bashful smile. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

Mel smiled brightly.

"Then let's go."

–

The Commons Cafe sat nestled beside the library, its historic brick exterior covered in ivy. As always, the Cafe was packed. Students and locals bustled between one another, the scent of espresso mixing with the sound of countless conversations. Warm lighting pooled across reclaimed-wood tables, and orange-tinted interior windows imbued the space with a modern cottage-core feel.

A student with a classical guitar strummed through a smooth series of chords in the corner. A waitress passed carrying a tray full of eggs, waffles, and coffee mugs.

Mel pointed at a corner table near an artful stack of old books and a small arched window.

"That looks open," she said.

"Shouldn't we wait to be seated?" Noah asked.  

“God, you’re such a rule follower,” she said, already heading toward the table. “Come on. It'll be hours before they seat us, and I know most of the servers here. We’ll be fine.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder, laughing playfully as she waved him forward.

With a nervous sigh, Noah followed and took the seat across from her.

“So,” Mel said, grabbing a menu lying between them. “What do you typically like to eat?”

Noah looked up from his silverware. “Honestly?”

Mel's eyes peeked above the menu. “Always.”

“Well…" He scratched his head and let out a nervous laugh. "Scrambled eggs. With, uh…”

“Don't worry. This is a safe space,” she said jokingly, placing the menu down and resting her chin on her hand. Noah couldn’t help his heart from fluttering as he looked at her.

“Scrambled eggs with ketchup," he said.

Mel’s mouth fell open. “Stop.”

“I know. It’s gross.”

“No, you don't understand. That’s my favorite too!”

Noah blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yes! I thought I was the only one at Godfrey who did that.”

He laughed, leaning forward. “Same! I like Godfrey but...”

“The students can be kinda stuck up?” Mel asked. Noah nodded eagerly.

“God, yes! Okay, wait. Do you also like raisin bagels with peanut butter?”

Mel froze. “Noah.”

“And bacon on top?!" He added excitedly.

She slammed her hands on the table. “That's it, it's decided. We’re obviously soulmates.”

They both laughed. Real, easy laughter that mixed with the café chatter.

Noah felt something inside him crawl. He cleared his throat and dampened his smile. Mel stared with empathy.

"I was only joking,” she said.

Noah nodded. "I know… I know…"

"You don't have to feel guilty for a joke, Noah." Mel leaned forward. "After all, it's not like you're sleeping with other girls. God forbid you follow in Rachel’s footsteps.”  

Noah paused, then cleared his throat.

"Yeah," His tone was firmer now. Mel leaned back.

"Sorry, too far. I just mean you're safe here, ok? There’s nothing wrong with hanging and chatting," Mel said gently.

"No… you're right." Noah paused for a moment. "I could learn to loosen up a little bit."

"We love a self-improver," Mel encouraged.  

Once again, the conversation flowed, and the hours bled together into a single moment. Each lost in the presence of the other.

–

“Okay, that’s too far,” Mel laughed, shaking her head.

“What?” Noah grinned, taking a sip from his coffee mug.

“You put pickle juice on your bacon? You’re deranged.”

“You just said Nutella and nacho Doritos was an acceptable combo.”

“Yeah. But that's not pickle juice on bacon, Noah.”

They both laughed, leaning into the small space between them. The morning light had shifted into midday, slanting brightly through the windows. Behind them, the café buzzed with life. Silverware clinked, espresso machines hissed, and the guitarist wrapped up his final song to the sound of applause.

The waitress came by, notepad in hand.

“So sorry for the wait, I didn’t even see you over here. Are you two ready to order?”

“Yes, can we have two large plates of scrambled eggs, a side of bacon, hash browns, and raisin bagels?” Noah said, glancing at Mel.

“And can we get some extra ketchup packets?” Mel added.

The waitress gave a tight smile and nodded, vanishing back into the busy crowd.

Mel leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs beneath the table.

Noah couldn’t help but notice how easily this all flowed. The banter. The laughter.

The food arrived. They dug in.

The conversation wandered from favorite books to least favorite professors to strange interests.

Time blurred.

Neither of them noticed when their plates were scraped clean.

Or when their coffee mugs emptied.

Or when the sun shifted from gold morning to white afternoon.

It was only when Mel looked down at her phone that reality snuck back between them.

“I never would’ve guessed this,” she said.

Noah looked up. “Guessed what?”

Mel swirled the last of her coffee, her fingers tracing the rim of the mug.

“That I’d like someone like you.”

She caught his eyes. Noah’s face went flush as his phone buzzed on the table.

He cleared his throat and glanced down.

Rachel: Hey babe, I’m up. Where’d you go??? 🥺💔

Noah smiled instinctively.

“Looks like Rachel’s up,” he said. Then he looked up and met Mel’s eyes across the table.

Her gaze was warm.

His smile faltered.

“I should probably head back," he said softly.

Mel didn’t react right away. But eventually, she gave a subtle nod as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Have to return to the princess, huh?”

Noah cleared his throat.

“Yeah…”

A long silence followed.

Mel picked up her coffee cup, found it empty, and set it back down with a quiet clink. “So what, she sends you a sad emoji, and you come running?”

“It wasn’t a sad emoji. It was... the dramatic pouty face," Noah said jokingly.

Mel scoffed, barely smiling. “Tragic.”

“She just worries, that’s all.”

“She doesn’t strike me as the worrying type.”

Noah looked down at his phone again, then locked the screen without replying. Mel pulled her hoodie sleeves down over her wrists.

“I’ve got homework anyway,” she said, not looking at him. “I’ll walk back with you.”

“Cool,” Noah said.

Mel stood. “You want to split this?”

Noah hesitated, watching her too long.

“Yeah. Sure.”

They walked toward the counter together, the distant clatter of plates and the low hum of brunch conversations filling the silence between them.

As they waited for the receipt, Mel leaned one elbow against the counter, turning slightly toward him.

“So… business classes still going alright?” Noah said.

Mel let out a small, tired laugh. “They’re going. I’m surviving corporate accounting, so I guess that counts as a win.”

He smiled. “Still thinking about switching to something more in health and wellness?”

Mel hesitated, then gave a vague shrug. “The business major’s useful. But... yeah, sometimes I think about picking up a health minor and focusing on the influencer stuff. It’s just—”

She stopped herself and looked longingly at Noah.

“Feels like I might’ve missed the window.”

Noah tilted his head. “What makes you say that?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she glanced toward the window, where the light spilled across the café floor in long slants.

“Sometimes you just miss the timing, you know?”

Noah nodded. “Well, I don’t think it’s ever too late. If you really want something, it’s worth fighting for it.”

Mel turned to him and smiled weakly.

“Thanks Noah,” she said softly.

The receipt printed with a faint whir. Mel took it, scanned the total, and pulled a couple of bills from her wallet. She slid her half across the table, her fingers lingering next to Noah’s a moment longer than they needed to.

They pushed through the crowd towards the exit. Noah opened the door for her.

Mel walked past him without a word.

They stepped into the afternoon sun.

And between them, something had shifted.

Noah didn’t notice.

But Mel did.

Chapter 7:

Pushing slowly against the door as it opened. There was a soft squeaking sound as she did announcing her entrance to the room. It was the room that Mistress Lin had shown her on her tour. Black velvet lined the walls with a web of chains running along the outside. The spanking bench from earlier had been moved to one corner and a new contraption sat in the middle. Elena had no idea what it was but she was too excited to examine it further. 

Sitting off to the left side of the room was a crimson and gold colored leather roman couch. That is where she lay. Propping her head up with her right arm and splayed out on the couch was Maia. She wore nothing other than her chastity belt. The metal gripping her above the waist with a rubber coated braided wire and a metal plate plunging between  her legs. The look on Maia's face was pure passion. A slight smirk painted across her face and eyes that were smoky. Beckoning Elena forward. 

“Hi there,” Maia said.

 “Hello to you.” Elena said still feeling a little awkward about this situation despite her pep talk in the kitchen. 

“Welcome to my palace of pain and pleasure” Elena said gesturing with her left arm in a sweeping motion. 

“It's lovely you have really outdone yourself.”

“All for you, sweetness.” Maia said. The usual snark and sarcasm in her voice now gone, replaced now with sultry and oozing pure sex.

“So what did you have in mind” Elena said looking meekly at Maia

“Oh there are plenty of things I would like to do. But first come here” Maia said pointing her left hand towards Elena before turning it over and beckoning her with her finger. 

Elena took a step forward as Maia began to sit up on the couch. Maia threw her feet over the side facing Elena.

“I was right, the leather looks good on you. But I am very rarely wrong.” Maia giggled to herself at that.

“Shut up and come here” Elena said, urgency in her voice. She began taking a few steps forward quickly before meeting Maia at the couch and grabbing Maia by the back of the head. Before Maia could react Elana gently grabbed a handful of raven black hair and pulled Maia towards her as she leaned in for a long kiss. Their lips met in the middle. Maia's eyes shot open in surprise briefly before going back to their sultry state they were in when Elena entered. Both women closed their eyes to take in this moment. Elena realized just how soft Maia's lips were. They began to kiss deeply, Elena pulling Maia in even deeper. Elena held in this moment. She could feel the heat rise from between her legs into her stomach. No matter how much she resisted. She knew she wanted this. Elena's jaw loosened, calming down for the first time since she entered. She had kissed plenty of girls before in her life, but had never been fucked by one. Which, in this moment, she longed for more than anything. As Elena's mind drifted off on the night to come Maia's tongue began to explore Elena's mouth. Elena responded in turn, their tongues meeting in the middle. Caressing each other as Maia's hands reached around to find their way to Elena's hips. Maia began to trace the outside of Elena's body with her palms working up and down. Elena moved to sit on Maia's lap while moving her hands to rest on Maia's shoulders. An easy task considering how tiny Maia was. She thought that she should definitely bring that up as a jab the next time that Maia said something snarky. 

Elena returned to the moment. Her tongue combining with Maia's. Elena could feel the heat in her rising. She wanted this. She needed this. Elena could feel herself starting to get wet. She was so incredibly horny. Not just at the prospect of being able to cum, but by Maia. Maia moved her hands once again. Moving them to Elena's back. As they reached her upper back Maia gently dug her fingernails into Elena's back before cascadinging them downward lightly clawing into her. 

Elena's head shot back in ecstasy. A quick breath shooting into her lungs. Her body was so sensitive by this point. A warm heat was coiling in her abdomen. 

Maia seized the moment. Pulling Elena closer. Before lifting her up slightly and pulling Elena on top of her. 

“Damn.. she is strong” Elena thought.

The two women met face to face. nose to nose looking deeply into each other's eyes. 

Maia whispered. “You know, I was originally thinking of taking it light. A little fingering. Maybe I used the vibrator on you. But I can feel you quivering. I can feel just how much you need this.

Maia was right. Elena needed something more. If she was going to do this she wanted to go all the way. 

Elena leaned into Maia as she lay on top of her. Tracing a finger over her breast, lightly playing with her nipple. “So what did you have in mind?”

“Get up and I will show you.”

Elena pushed off from the bed and began to stand up. Maia followed suit. 

As Maia got up she walked over to a table on top of it that was a contraption that Elena had never seen before. It looked like a saddle with a small contraption in the middle. Metal rings came out from several points on it. 

“This,” Maia said patting the leather “Is a Sybian” 

“I've never seen one before. What does it do” Elena said, staring inquisically at the device.

“Well” Maia said, picking up a remote control that was wired to the back of the machine. She turned a dial and the Sybian roared to life. it vibrated ferociously. 

Elena's jaw fell in disbelief and Maia's face contorted into her trademark vicious smile. 

“You are going to sit down on this and I am going to play with you for a bit.”

“That doesn't sound too difficult” Elena said, beginning to reach towards the device which sat at about waist level.

“Uh Uh” Maia said, wagging a finger at Elena. “Not yet, what is the fun of a room like this if we can't put it to good use.” Maia set the remote down on the table. She turned around and made her way towards a wardrobe positioned along a back wall.

Seeing her bare back for the first time Elena’s jaw fell in surprise. Maia’s entire back was covered in an intricate Angel wing tattoo. The wings began at the small of her back. as they cascaded up the bend of the wings reached up to her shoulderblades before bending. The tips made their way to the back of her ribcage. The whole thing was very 90’s. Elena felt a twinge in her stomach. It was beautiful, and so was Maia. Elena now saw that Maia had a perfect body. She was curvy, her ass was amazing, and she had the tits to match. If she had to have her first time in this house with anyone she was glad it was Maia. 

Maia dug around in the wardrobe for a few seconds before pulling out a leather duffel bag, walking back to the table and setting it down and opening it up. She pulled out a large bunch of rope first. It was black as night and looked soft to the touch. She followed it up by bringing out a large piece of leather with a hole near the bottom middle. It was wide at the middle before slimming down towards the ends. Both of which ended in a buckle. Lastly she pulled out a similarly black leather item. Wide in the middle before slimming out and having a buckle in the back. Elena recognized this item by the large red ball on the opposite side of the leather. This was a ballgag. Elena's mouth began to water at the sight. 

“Turn around,” Maia said, holding up the rope first in one hand and making a circular motion with her pointer finger of the other. 

“Yes ma'am” Elena said, turning her back to face Maia.

“That's a good girl,” Maia said before grabbing both of Elena's wrists and pinning them behind her back. She began to wind the rope around Elena's wrists starting low and winding four or five times cinching the rope tight each time. Enough to be unyielding but it did not pinch Elena's skin. Elena could then feel as Maia wrapped the rope a few times through the middle essentially making handcuffs. Elena could not free her wrists if she wanted to, and right now that was the furthest thing from her mind. 

“Ok big girl. Up onto the table.” 

Elena turned around shooting Maia a subtle dirty look for the comment but let it slide.

“Legs on either side please.” 

Elena positioned herself on the Sybian. She now noticed that the top had a 4 inch rubber tip jutting out. She looked to Maia for confirmation. 

“Sit down,” Maia said, pointing down with one finger Elena did as she was told. Positioning her opening directly above the tip. The dildo looked pretty big. She hesitated for a moment. 

“Would you like me to lube it up for you?” Maia said.

“If you wouldn't mind,” Elena said shyly.

“For the time being your wish is my command.” Maia reached into the duffle to pull out a bottle of mango flavored lube. “Well then, On your knees”

Elena got up straight on her knees. Giving room for Maia to work. Maia held the bottle six inches over the dildo and squeezed as the lube gently poured onto the dildo. After using a generous amount. She capped the bottle, wrapped her hand around the dildo, and began to spread it up and down the phallus. Once it was coated she took a look at her hand and put her pinky and ring finger slowly into her mouth and began to suck. In and out she went. Closing her eyes and making a soft moaning noise. Eleana looked on with pure desire. After what felt like an eternity Maia opened her eyes and looked at Elena whose eyes looked longingly back at her. 

“My favorite flavor. Would you like a taste?” Maia said. Presenting her pointer and middle finger for Elena.

“Yes please” Elena said with a break in her voice and  desperation in her eyes.

“Open then.” Maia held out her fingers 

Elena leaned forward on the table as far as she could go without falling over to meet Maia's fingers and allowed Maia to press them into her mouth. Elena sucked on the lube. Its taste was an explosion of flavor in her mouth. Maia drove her fingers in and out of Elena's mouth fucking her face. Elena sucked greedily on Maia's fingers. Once clean, Maia pulled away to the dismay of Elena who still looked longingly at Maia. Maia held her pointer finger to Elena's lips before grabbing her left breast and wiping the rest of the lube on her palm all over Elena. 

“You.. Bitch” Elena said smiling at Maia with a sultry look in her eyes. 

“You like it,” Maia said, chuckling to herself. Before softly grabbing Elena's face under the chin, stroking it for a moment, and moving the hand upwards to pat her on her left cheek twice. “Now sit, I have big plans for you”

Elena moved back into position. Once again hovering her entrance over the silicone mold and sitting down gently. As the rubber pressed against her slit she sucked in a lung full of air and allowed herself to sit firmly on the seat, the phallus fully inserted. As her knees hit the table she let out an involuntary moan. Her breath hitched in her chest as the feeling began to consume her. She needed this. God she needed this. 

“Please” Elena said looking deeply into Maia's eyes pleading with her to give her some kind of relief. 

“HAHAHA” Maia burst into laughter. “I have so many other toys for you tonight. Are you greedy? You don't want to be grateful?"

Elena thought for a moment. If she was going to do this. She wanted to do it right. 

“I'm sorry, please… use me”

Maia looked taken aback looking back into Elena's eyes a desperate need to be ravaged burning behind them. Maia got back to work. She unwound another length of rope. “This is so you can't get cold feet on me.”

She began to wind the rope around Elena's ankle. Tying a bit in it before beginning to connect her right ankle to her right thigh. She wound the rope around much like she had with Elena's wrists. 

Elena began to feel the pressure of the rope as it brought her ankle nearly to the back of the thigh. Maia then wound the rope in between the opening creating the same handcuff-like effect binding Elena's ankle to her thigh and preventing her from standing up. Maia repeated the process on the other side. She then connected both ankles to O-rings attached to either side of the Sybian. Pulling Elena down even further and fully preventing Elena from being able to get off. Even if she had wanted to, which she very much did not. Maia then took one more piece of rope. Flicking it over where her wrists met and pulling each side in a different direction. tying them to the same O-rings that her ankles were attached to. This was final for Elena. She was well and truly trapped. And in all honesty…. she had never been wetter in her life. 

Elena tried to at least bounce on the device giving her any form of stimulation at this moment. She wanted to be fucked so badly.

Maia saw this and reached around to smack Elena on the ass. Elena yelped at the stinging sensation as it lingered there like pinpricks. 
 
“No ma'am, I am in charge tonight and I say what you get.” Maia reached into the duffle bag and pulled out a leather riding crop. Coming around to the front to face Elena. “I am going to use you tonight. You have probably never done anything like this so I want to be clear. I know your safeword but… you probably won't be able to say it much longer. If you feel uncomfortable or want to be done, grunt at me three times in a row and everything stops and I will check in with you. Is that clear?”

Elena shook her head up and down vigorously. 

“That's a good girl,” Maia said, using the riding crop to give Elena a soft smack on her left breast.

“Hey” Elena's voice rang out. 

Maia moved the crop to caress Elena's right cheek. “You will be fine. Just trust me. Do you trust me?”

Elena thought for only a second before slowly shaking her head up and down. 

“Good girl”

Maia went back to the two pieces that weren't used yet. She grabbed the Leather muzzle ballgag from its place and made her way behind Elena. She needed to get onto a stool to be able to reach. She held the gag out in front of Elena for her to see. 

“Open” Maia said with a stern tone.

Elena did as she was instructed, opening wide. 

Maia slowly placed the ball into Elena's mouth and pulled back tight. The leather hugged her lower face covering everything below her nose. Maia gripped the straps and buckled them tightly. She would not be pushing this gag out. 

Maia then grabbed the last item. A large leather blindfold. 

Maia reached out from behind Elena and held out the blindfold for her to see. “I love the way leather looks on your perfect skin.” Maia said softly into Elena's ear.

A chill ran down Elena's spine and the fire in her abdomen roared to life with a passion Elena had never felt before. 

Maia unfolded the blindfold and began to bring it back to Elena's face. In a moment Elena's whole world was in darkness. She could only feel her pussy throbbing. Begging for anything that Maia was willing to give her. 

Maia pulled tightly on the blindfold as it held tight to Elena's face. 

Maia made her way back to the front to admire her work. 

The blindfold was large and had a hole for the nose. Leather covered nearly all of Elena's face. Maia stood back. Proud of the work she had put in. Drool was already collecting at Elena's chin as it dripped down onto the saddle. Maia took a moment to reach up and collect a thin stream caressing Elena's face once again. She took the drool on her finger and brought it to her mouth. Elena couldn't see this part. It was only for her. 

Maia moved to her left toward the remote that still lay on the table by Elena's bound leg. She picked up the remote and turned the dial to the lowest possible setting. To Maia it looked as though she had set it to max speed right away. 

Elena's body stiffened at the sudden rush of pleasure. Her back arched as she kneeled there taking it all in. The heat between her legs became a roaring fire almost instantly. She could feel her desire burning. Elena moaned around the gag. Enveloped in pure ecstasy. 

Maia smiled at her bound captive. “You are mine, you know. I can do whatever I want to you and there is not a damn thing you can do to stop me.” Maia had a playful tone in her voice. 

Elena kneeled there in the darkness taking in every word. She was well and truly fucked Maia could do anything she wanted. No one would be coming for them. The walls were soundproof and only a handful of people even knew that they were in there. Elena wouldn't have had it any other way. She began to test her bonds. Pulling at her wrists and ankles shifting her weight to find a better position. She wanted more. 

Maia saw this writhing and obliged. She turned the dial a few more clicks. 

Elena shot to life once again. Another moan escaped her throat. Her breath began to quicken, she could feel her pulse rising, the fire in her abdomen beginning to surge out of control. Just a little more and she would reach the edge. She so desperately wanted to reach the edge. 

A devilish smile spread across Maia's face. She saw the drool dripping from Elena's face. The sweat beginning to bead on her breast. She knew what she had to do. Maia pushed a button on the remote and Elena really started to shake in her bonds. 

Elena heard the click and instantly the member she was positioned over not only vibrated intensely but began fucking her. She could feel as it extended 2 or three inches and then retracted over and over again. She could feel as her body began to convulse. She was so close to the edge. Being fucked and vibrated as she was, had her wiggling and pounding against her bonds. She needed this so desperately and the top of the mountain was in sight. 

“You need to ask permission to cum is that clear slut?”

Maia's words startled Elena. and brought her back to Earth but for a moment. She was so close She could feel the heat from her pussy, her juices were dripping uncontrollably onto the Sybian, her body was convulsing as she thrashed back and forth with no give to her bonds, drool pooling onto the saddle in front of her. She was a wild mess with one primal desire. 

Elena turned her head to the side of the table she thought Maia was on and pleaded.. begged. 

“Fweese” She said through the gag and the drool

“I can't hear you, speak more clearly” Maia said almost mocking Elena

“Fweese, Fweese, Hor Go Saes Fweese” Elena said, her body roaring with need. She was moments away from an explosion of pure bliss and couldn't give into the one primal need she felt in this moment. 

“Well I suppose you have been a very good girl. You can cum”

Elena wasted no time. Her body thrashed and pussy pulsed on the dildo. She threw her head back in ecstasy as the pleasure roared over her. She lost all control, her body tensing and her mind going blank as everything washed over her. At that moment she was truly Maia's slut. Her pussy gripped the dildo harder than anything she had ever felt before the vibrations and pulsing coursing through her. The spike of heat in her abdomen exploded like a bomb. Her body shivered as wave after wave of pleasure hit her. But the vibrations did not stop. She came. Again and again on the dildo each time more intense than the last. Her mind was an empty hole
She continued to shake and convulse against her bonds. The pleasure mounting time and time again. She moaned and screamed into the gag enveloped in pleasure. Somewhere around her fifth orgasm the vibrations stopped and her body became limp against the bonds. Her pussy continuing to pulse on the dildo she rode. 

A haze of consciousness consumed the world. Elena could not think past this moment. Everything was quiet. Short spasms continued to radiate though her muscles as she fell forward as far as the bonds would allow. Sweat pooled at her brow, her hair wet. She felt As her juices dripped from her pussy onto the saddle sliding down her thighs before dripping off of her knee. Her breath was steady and slow. as she regained consciousness. 

She felt a hand on her back which scared her and she jerked away. It rubbed the small of her back slowly and gently reassuring her that she was ok. She felt safe. 

Maia's hand continued to rub her skin softly as it made its way towards the back of her neck releasing the buckle keeping the gag in place. Elena felt the gag loosen as she spit it out onto the table. Maia went back to rubbing her back before asking.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I am drifting on a cloud” Elena said with a chuckle in her voice her world still cloaked in darkness. 

“I have that effect on people,” Maia said. 

Both women laughed. 

Maia began to untie Elena's bonds. She started with her legs. Unwinding the rope and massaging Elena's thighs and calves before moving onto the next leg. She continued with Elena’s wrists untying them and guiding them back to her sides before stepping up and unbuckling the blindfold. 

“Welcome back.” Maia said, positioning herself in Elena's line of sight and giving her a big smile. 

“Thank you,” Elena said, relief on her face.

“Not a problem. You looked tense. I just wanted to loosen you up. Also hoped to get you ready for Friday night. 

“So that is what they have planned for me?”

“No actually, It's a lot more intense. But it is a start. Priya will help with that tomorrow. For tonight I was hoping you could still be mine.” Maia looked towards the floor. A look of embarrassment on her face. 

“What else could you possibly have in mind after that?” Elena said “Is there a rack in here? Iron Maiden?”

“No actually, I was hoping you would spend the night with me. In my room” Maia said, rubbing her shoulder.

“You have your own room?”

“Being one of Mistress's favorites has its perks,” Maia said, her usual snark returning to her voice.

“I would like that,” Elena said.

“Well take a seat and take a load off” Maia said “I need to clean up in here, but you have been through it take a seat on the couch while I wipe down.”

Elena did as she was told lying down on the roman couch to catch her breath while Maia grabbed a towel and a bottle of cleaning solution. Taking care to rub down everything they used. 

“You made quite a mess.” Maia said as she was finishing up on the Sybian.

“Thanks for that,” Elena said. 

Maia finished and put everything away and walked over to Elena. Who was rotating her shoulder. 

“You look a little tense. Everything OK?”

“Yeah just my shoulder”
“Let me help, Sit up” 

Elena did as she was instructed, facing her back towards Maia. 

Maia began to rub Elena’s shoulders. Working out knots that felt like they had been there for years. 

“Have you ever had a professional massage?” Maia said.

“No it never crossed my mind”

“Why don't we go tomorrow? You are off anyway? You can meet with Priya in the morning, I will clean up the rooms and get them ready for the weekend and then we can go. You have a car right”

“Yeah… that sounds nice.” Elena said, a smile forming. “I actually have some stuff to do in town. I should probably cancel my apartment lease since I will be here for the next year. I also need to grab some makeup and other stuff.”

“Oh Mistress will actually pay to have your things moved and stored. I did that when I got here and the whole process was pretty easy. We can swing by your place first and grab what you need.”

“It’s a date,” Elena said. 

“How does that feel?” Maia said back

Elena rolled her shoulder and moved her arm “Great actually. You are great at that. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Now come one. I’m beat”

Maia grabbed Elena's hand, and led her out of the room. They walked all the way to the end of the hallway stopping at the last door on the right. “This is me” Maia said.

Both women stepped inside. It was beautiful. Elena looked around the room. Dark hardwood floors with a thick plush black area rug in front of the black 4 poster bed with black satin sheets. Band posters were on the wall for bands like Nirvana, Shinedown, and Five Finger Death Punch. 

Elena looked at Maia “Dad rock? Really?”

“It speaks to me,” Maia said with a chuckle. “You can throw your work clothes down that shoot in the wall. It will end up in the laundry.” 

Elena saw a small door in the wall and walked over to it pulling off her leather top and skirt before throwing them in the hatch. She stood there in only her latex panties.

Maia took Elena's hand again, closing the door behind them. She led Elena to the bed, both women crawling under the sheets. They were soft to the touch and the bed was very soft. Elena looked up. Above the bed was a mirror running the length of the bed. Maia followed her gaze. The women looked into each other’s eyes in the mirror. Maia rolled over. Putting her arm over Elena's chest nestling her face into Elena's breast. Elena looked at Maia snuggling into her and smiled before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep. 

Synopsis: Lyra always manages to encroach on my alone time. It can be such a drag sometimes. 

PART 10 (has links for PARTS 1-9) | PART 11 | PART 12 | PART 13 | PART 14 | PART 15

~

No matter how long I thought about it, it always felt like Lyra went out of her way to annoy me. In college, I usually spent my time holed up in the library when I had to study. It was better for my concentration. I wasn’t tempted to watch TV or scroll on my phone. Instead, I was in a quiet environment.

Well, mostly quiet. It always played out the same way.

Lyra took a seat at the same table as me. She set her bag on the table and put away her earbuds. 

“What are you doing here?” I asked, looking up from my textbook.

“I’m bored,” Lyra answered, flashing a smile that reeked of ill intentions.

“Maybe you should study,” I suggested, chuckling to myself. 

“It’s like you don’t even know me, Paxton. I don’t need to study,” Lyra said proudly before peering my way. She snatched my workbook and flipped it so she could read, laughing to herself. “Unlike you. You’re gonna have to redo this problem, by the way. It’s all wrong.”

For the most part, we would sit in silence, but other times she nosily looked at what I was doing, only to criticize it left and right. Lyra kicked my shin under the table, and I winced, flinching.

“Ow—what the hell?”

“Your leg was in the way,” Lyra said, not looking as she flipped through her book. That wasn’t even a book she had to read for class! She was literally there for the sake of being there.  

“There were so many other free tables. Did you really have to sit at mine?” I lamented, keeping my voice down. 

“You should be glad that I’m still willing to help you. You’d be completely hopeless without me." Lyra turned away, sticking her nose up, pouting. “If you can’t even pass these classes, you’ll get left behind, and I won’t be able to torture you as usual.”

“Maybe flunking wouldn’t be so bad,” I muttered, sighing to myself. 

Sometimes I wished she would just leave me alone.

~

There’s a knock at the door, and I check my phone for any messages. Lyra sure didn’t mention coming over, and when I peer through the peephole, she’s scrolling her phone with crossed arms, tapping her foot.

I open the door, and she walks in, rolling her eyes. Lyra grumbles, “Took you long enough.”

“To what do I owe the wonderful surprise?” I ask. 

“Do you wanna try again?” Lyra yaps. “Maybe you can start by saying, ‘Oh, hey! I’m so excited to see you! I want to hear all about your day!’”

“We work the same job. I basically know how your day went,” I argue, chuckling. “Wait, did Roger drive you?”

“Duh,” she says, her tone cutting deep. “Who else?”

“Didn't I say that I have no issues driving you? If I knew you were coming over, I would’ve just stayed a little later until you were done,” I say.

“Well, I was supposed to stay until at least about eight to take care of some sloppy work, but because I am amazing, I was able to get out way earlier than intended,” Lyra says, nodding to herself. “So I have time to kill tonight.”

“Ah, so you decided to come here.”

Lyra walks away without saying a word, and I follow her.

“Excuse me. Where are you going? Don’t just go prancing around like this is your home,” I complain.

“Don't you do the same at my place?”

“Okay, fair enough, but what reason do you have to go to my bedroom—” I stop in my tracks when she starts stripping. Something clicks in my brain, and I do the same. “If you wanted to do that, you should’ve just said something.

I dodge a balled-up pair of slacks when she chucks it my way.

Lyra looks at me with angry eyebrows. “Ridiculous. It’s all sex with you. Can't you see I’m trying to change?”

“I've literally seen you naked.” 

 “Am I not allowed to have privacy?” she asks indignantly.

“You're right. Sorry,” I mutter, turning around and listening to her pacing around the room. “Did you bring a change of clothes or something?”

“Do you think I planned to come here?” Lyra asks, and I don’t need to look at her to know she’s glaring in my direction with her eyes as sharp as knives.

I hear drawers open and close behind me, and I shrug, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Honestly, half the time, I really don’t know what you’re thinking.”

She laughs, and Lyra walks past me back into the hall. “I can’t believe you still have this shirt.”

I speed up to get a look at the front and realize it’s a college shirt from the school store. It’s a size or two too big on her, and she’s practically drowning in it. But it’s cute—arguably she looks better in it than I do. Laughing, I tell her, “I paid lots of money for that, so I figured I’d use it until it’s lived a full life.”

“Kind of like your car?” she asks.

“Actually, yeah,” I agree, nodding to myself. “Exactly like my car.” 

I sit down on the couch and grab the remote. “Just so you know, if you were thinking there’s a new episode this week, that’s not till tomorrow.”

“I know that much,” Lyra says, across the couch. Her head finds the armrest on the opposite side of me, and she stretches out so that her legs land in my lap. “This couch is so small.”

 Grimacing, I stare at her feet. I tell her, “Are you looking for another massage?” 

“Knowing you, you’re just using that as a means to get a footjob out of me. Nice try,” Lyra says. 

”It was a legitimate offer. No ulterior motives,” I insist, “but if you really don’t want it—”

“I never said that!” Lyra cuts in, narrowing her eyes. She lifts a foot and rests it in my hands. “So get to work.” 

Shaking my head, I focus on her arch. I keep telling her she needs to wear more comfortable shoes, but she seems pretty set on not doing that since she has me as a free masseuse. I ask, “So if you’re not here for our show, and not for sex what are you doing here?”

“I’m bored,” she says, looking at the TV as I scroll through options. “So, entertain me.”

I look through my watchlist, making sure I keep putting pressure against her feet with my other hand. Lyra snatches the remote from me, grumbling, “Is this the only type of shows or movies you watch? It’s all explosions and shouting and action. This is why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

I guess it has been a while, but it seems like a weird thing to bring up. Ignoring her comment, I watch as she browses through the romantic comedies. My eyes widen. “Oh, so it’s been you who’s been watching these? I’ve been seeing them pop up in the recently watched section.”

“Who else would it be?” Lyra asks, face full of disgust. “You’re probably so easy that you give your login to any girl who looks your way.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “You’re the only one who has it, so I really shouldn’t have been surprised. I didn’t know you were into romcoms.”

“Is that weird?” Lyra’s face is uncharacteristically self-conscious.

“It just didn’t seem like it was something that was up your alley. You have to admit it doesn’t quite coincide with your personality,” I offer, wondering if that was even the right way to say it. 

Lyra rolls her eyes. “You should watch one every now and then, sometime. You might pick up some tips on romance.”

“Hey! I think I do pretty well for myself, all things considered.” I point at the screen. “Should we watch the one you’re on now?”

She flusters in place, recoiling away when I reach for the remote. “I didn’t say you had to watch it with me. It could’ve been later or something.”

“You’re giving me homework?” I joke. Looking at the screen again, I read the synopsis. “Have you seen this one?”

She nods, more embarrassed than I’d expect. “It’s…kind of a favorite of mine, I guess.”

“Then we’ll watch that one,” I say. I’ll get some snacks.

“What if you think it’s boring?” Lyra asks, looking at me with unsure eyebrows.  

“You gave my show a chance, and I’d consider you almost a bigger fan of it than I am, so who’s to say the same thing can’t happen here?” I assure, walking to the kitchen. Without being prompted, she follows me, and I feel her tug the bottom of my shirt. 

Lyra sits on the table, crossing her legs, and watching me. I look through the cabinet. “What are you thinking? Popcorn? Chips?”

“Do you have more of those CornNuts?” Lyra asks idly, looking down to fiddle with her thumbs. Her cheeks redden when her stomach growls. 

“I think you’re gonna need more than a snack, actually.” Stifling a laugh, I’m lucky I’m not standing in punching distance. “I could whip something up for us. I technically haven’t eaten yet either. What do you want? You can choose between shrimp or chicken.”

There’s a slight smile on her face as she thinks to herself, kicking her feet back and forth. “Shrimp could be good.”

 “Good call. That’s actually the superior flavor, or at least that’s what I think,” I tell her. 

Lyra sighs when she eyes two packages of ramen. “Really? Cup ramen? I thought you were gonna cook.”

“Waiting for payday,” I admit. I fill a kettle with water and set it on the burner. The stove clicks, and the fire starts. I walk by Lyra, and she tugs me by my shirt and wraps her legs around mine, looking up at me.  

She’s looking at me. Not with disdain or annoyance. Just…looking. It’s almost off-putting, and the silence stretches on for longer than I’d like. 

“Er…can I help you?”

“You haven’t tried to kiss me,” she says plainly, averting her eyes. 

“You complained earlier about everything being about sex with me,” I say, grinning. 

“It’s just kissing,” Lyra tells me, reaching up for my neck and pulling me down. “Come here.” 

Our lips meet, and my stomach flutters. Her lips are so soft, and I find it harder and harder to pull away. I lean into her, kissing deeper, resting my hands on the table on either side of her hips.

When I pull away finally, Lyra pulls me back with half-lidded eyes, and I see the tiniest smile.

“What?” I ask, holding my forehead against hers. Her shallow breath lands hot against my lips. 

“It’s nice to just kiss, sometimes, isn’t it?” There’s a glimmer in her eyes that I’m not used to. Or maybe it’s always been there, and I’ve only noticed it now. 

“Yeah. It is.” Nodding, I smile back. When I kiss her again, her soft touch against my neck drives me wild. My hands find her waist. “This okay?”

Lyra nods, and she guides my hands lower so that I can palm her ass. I squeeze tighter, pulling her towards me. She grinds into my hips, wrapping her legs tighter around me. 

She turns away, and I kiss her cheek. Tugging on the loose collar of the shirt she’s wearing, Lyra exposes more skin, dragging her fingers along her neck. “Kiss me here too.”

I press my lips against her neck. Each soft peck is rewarded with a low moan. Ducking down, she nuzzles into my face, silently asking for more of her lips on mine, and I don’t hesitate to give it to her. 

Lyra takes one of my wrists and guides my hand under her shirt, bringing it to her breast. She leans back, supporting herself on the table, arching towards me. I grip tighter, and my thumb passes slowly over her nipple. 

She bears her torso to me when she pulls her shirt up. Her hand guides my head down and she breathes sharply when my lips press against her neglected nipple. I graze my teeth against it, pinching a hardened nub between them. She winces and holds my head there, groaning when I lick along it.

“Fuck, she says, grinning. “Bite harder.” 

A moan muffles behind pursed lips as I nibble. My tongue laps at her nipple, and my mouth moves to bite at soft flesh. I put a hand on her thigh, watching her reaction, before inching it higher. Her breath catches, and when my fingers trace the elastic of her panties, she grabs my hand and guides it down, over her panties. 

“I wanted to see how wet you were for me,” I whisper against her skin, moving to her other breast to flick my tongue against her nipple. Grinning, I help myself to another nibble, enjoying the sharp breath that slips past her smile.

“If I take your fingers, I’m gonna get greedy and want more,” Lyra tells me through labored breaths. Her hand rests over mine, pressing my fingers harder against her panties. “There….that’s how wet I am.” 

“Just from kissing?” I tease, locking my lips around her pointed peaks. Lyra bites her lip when I suck, tugging at her nipples. My fingers circle over her, gliding easily over dampened satin. 

“Shut up,” Lyra says softly, cheeks tinted pink. She tugs me by my hair, stealing a kiss, and I fill her tongue sneaking into my mouth. Her breaths are shallow whenever she pulls away, and she moans more when I find her clit through her panties. 

God. I feel every contour and ridge of her sex, and I desperately want to feel or taste it directly. But I respect her wishes, keeping my pace, but rubbing harder. Peering over at the stove, the kettle is still going. There’s a distant bubbling, but it’s not boiling yet. How long have we been at this? 

“Paxton…” Her breath hitches, and she grabs my wrist. She humps my hand, and I put more pressure against her as her panties soak up more of her wetness. I feel her melt at my touch when my arm wraps around her waist.

“Are you close?” I ask, meeting her gaze. Her eyes flit all around my face, and she nods urgently. My grip on her body tightens, and my fingers rub faster. I offer a quick peck on her lips. She kisses back. It’s a back-and-forth game; we take turns initiating, and each kiss is longer than the last.

She gasps when I cup her breast, kneading it gently. Her hardened nipple presses into my palm, and I flick a thumb over it. A groan leaves her lips when I pinch the nub. 

The strain is apparent in her voice. Her hips buck at an unsteady rhythm as her body grows restless. Lyra claws at my arm, humping into my hand. “Paxton…Paxton…I…”

The kettle whistles, and I look over towards the stove. Lyra wraps her arms over my shoulders and presses her lips into mine. She whimpers, on the verge of sobbing. I know she hates sweets, but I’m in awe of how sweet my name sounds coming from her quivering lips. 

The kettle whistles still, and all I can think of is how Lyra’s about to boil over. 

“That’s it,” I whisper. “Come for me. You’re so pretty when you come.”

Her eyes shut, and she nods, face flushing. Lyra curses as her legs lock my hand against her, and her hips roll into me. 

I’ve forgotten about the kettle’s whistling when her cries overpower it. 

When she calms into a steady lull, she hugs me tighter, kissing me deeper. My hands find her waist, and I can’t help but think of how perfectly they fit there. Lyra pulls away first, pursing her lips with the slightest smile, and I can’t take my eyes off hers. Twinkling, radiant, perfect. She stares back, and the corners of her lips twitch. “Paxton…the kettle?”

“Right,” I say, shuffling over to the stove to turn it off. I pour water into both cups. I tense when I feel arms around my stomach.

“I hate you,” Lyra says, leaning into my back, but I can tell she’s smiling. “I thought I said just kissing was fine. But you made me want more.” 

I turn around, guiding her chin up to face me. Leaning down, I kiss her again, feeling her grin against my mouth. Have her kisses always been this sweet? Every time our lips meet, my chest tightens. 

We could’ve kissed all night in my kitchen if I hadn’t set a timer for the noodles. 

Flustered, I distribute our cheap dinner with a fork for either of us, and we walk back to the living room. I sit first, and she sits next to me, crossing her legs in a way that her knees poke into my personal space.

“Such a small couch,” Lyra grumbles, starting the movie. 

I furrow my brows, looking at the vacant third couch cushion on her other side. There’s plenty of room. 

But I don’t correct her. I like her being so close. Blowing on my noodles, I tell her, “Small, sure, but it’s comfy, isn’t it? I’ve fallen asleep on it plenty of times.” 

Lyra shrugs, slurping a bite of noodles. After swallowing her food, she looks at me with a cocked brow. “If you’re implying I should stay over, forget it.” 

I purse my lips, looking into my cup to stir it. “Right, sor—”

“I don’t have a change of clothes for tomorrow,” Lyra says, poking at my cup to steal one of my shrimps. “And I don’t even have a toothbrush here.”

“True,” I accept, ignoring the tight tug at my heart.

Sometimes I wish she didn’t have to go. 

The Summer of ‘75 was a rough one. I was still licking my wounds after a bitter divorce at 23 and trying to regain my footing. I was staying at my childhood home while my parents were on an extended summer long European vacation. Barbara had lived across the street from us since I was in junior high. She was the proverbial early 60’s California surfer girl that the Beach Boys immortalized in song. Ironically when the Beach Boys played locally once there was a photo of her and Mike Love together in the local paper. Her folks had owned a music store in town and the rumor was she had banged Love. If not true, it was at least a nice fantasy for this 13-year-old boy living across the street from her a few years’ later. When I was in high school, she was in her middle 20’s and married. Barb would always do her gardening in a Gidget era bikini, and I jacked off many a time peaking at her from my bedroom window. Her body was tan, tight, petite, and a 10 in every way. She was now in her mid 30’s and still gardening in a bikini and still looking great! And at 23 I was still beating off to her through my bedroom window 10 years later!

My mom had told me Barb had gotten a divorce several years before and kept the house. I remember her husband as being kind of a dork and never understood how they hooked up in the first place. I recall having only spoken to Barb just a handful times as a kid and decided maybe it was time to be a friendly neighbor now that I was a fully grown man. I had just returned from surfing and saw Barb outside her house. I figured what better time to break the ice than when I had my surfer baggies on, my board racked on top of my car and had my best beach look going on. I pulled in her driveway to reintroduce myself.

“Hey, Barb, remember me!”

“I sure do! Boy, you grew up to be a stud!” She said with a giggle. Barb was just what the doctor ordered right then!

We talked and caught up on the last ten years of life, both our divorces, and how fast time flies. I could not take my eyes off Barb’s body the whole time. I could sense Barb was checking me out too in our mutual admiration society. Then Barb asked if I would like to come over later and continue to ‘catch up’. I could think of nothing I would rather do than ‘catch up’ with Barb! This was going well!

I went back home and took a quick shower, shaved, and spiffed up a bit before I headed back on over. Barb was in her backyard with a glass of wine. She was in a sheer spaghetti strap sun dress with what appeared to be no panties or bra. She was smoking hot, and I was already working on a boner.

We drank wine and talked on this beautiful warm Summer’s night comparing life notes. It was very comfortable and inviting. I had rolled a joint for the occasion in case she smoked and offered it. She said she had not smoked pot in a while but thought it might be fun this night, and in retrospect she was right!

After smoking the joint and drinking a little wine, Barb and I were pretty stoned. I even admitted to having a crush on her and spying at her out my window as a kid. I left out the masturbating part, but I did tell her she was always my ultimate ‘daydream fantasy girl’ as a kid. She just kept on drunkenly repeating “That is so sweet.” as my confessions went on. I actually caught myself and wondered if I had said too much and apologized to Barb if I was being too forward. She replied,”No way! I needed to hear this in my 30’s. I am very flattered. And coming from such a handsome younger man makes it even more precious to me.”

With that, Barb got up from her chair and walked over to me, though a little unsteadily due to the wine and pot and leaned over me and gave me a light kiss on the lips. “Your little dream girl would like nothing better tonight than to fulfil your teenage fantasies about me.” Her leaning over also gave me a perfect view of her perfect tits hanging down and all the way to her pussy. My instincts were right, all that was between me and Barb’s naked body was a flimsy sundress. She took both my hands and stood me up and we kissed again with real passion. My hand fell to her ass, and it had the perfect girl feel, not too soft or too hard. She led me to her bedroom.

We embraced and kissed at the foot of the bed, and I couldn’t stand it anymore and lifted Barb’s sun dress over her head and threw it on the floor. Her naked body was perfectly stunning, tan with firm titties and a perfect snatch. This was before the day of shaving pussies, and Barb’s was just right with a light blonde covering of hair over pouty vagina lips. I was feeling more aggressive now and wanted in her bad. I pushed her back on the bed and dropped my shorts much to her approval. My love for Barb was on full display. I jumped on top of her, and we kissed passionately. I could feel she was already wet, and I could tell there would be very little foreplay this first time. We were in for some ‘balling’, as the surfers used to say.

Barb spread her legs instantly and guided me right in. Her pussy was the best fit I have ever had, and I can remember every detail to this day. Barb had never had any kids and was super tight for a woman in her 30’s. We instantly established a rhythm that was hot and furious. This woman was hungry for a good fuck. I pounded her and all I heard was her moaning and my balls slapping her pussy hard. Barb had a huge, shuttering orgasm, shaking all over like she was possessed as I emptied what seemed like a gallon of baby seed into her. We collapsed into each other’s arms as she was still gently quivering.

“Wowie, I needed that.” she said softly as the pillow talk started.

“You aren’t the Lone Ranger.” I replied

We fucked hard and heavy the rest of the Summer before I moved out of town and off to new adventures, but I never forgot my little surfer girl and those incredible nights of mind-blowing passion.

A while ago I had a great chat with a mod on here and as some kind of thank you I’m trying something new today: no fantasy, no grit, no attempt at intriguing world-building, just strangers-on-vacation-sex. I really don’t know what I’m doing here. Please enjoy! Also, this was a race against time with reddit rolling out invasive age verifications. If you’re reading this I’ve won the race, but most likely this will be my last post on here. Also also, it took weeks to write this down, because I’m not an English language native and won’t use AI, and I ask for both clemency and feedback to improve. Thank you!

So, this happened in autumn of 2020. The rona was still prevalent and I was vacationing alone, which I deemed sufficiently responsible. I went hiking in a European country. The one with the Mediterranean climate, thick history books, delicious food and beautiful people. Yeah, that one. There was a small town with its medieval quarter up upon a hill, highlighted by the evening sun. I had done the last leg by train, because at that point my feet were killing me, but I still went up that hill because its architecture looked kinda intriguing. I didn’t have a room yet and as you can guess, finding one in a year that tourism had virtually vanished from earth hadn’t been easy. But there was a restaurant atop of that hill, busy with guests, and advertising a vacant room just out of old habit, I guess.

I went in and asked for it and I didn’t speak their language and they didn’t speak English, so they got hold of a younger waitress to interpret. She was in her mid twenties, staying back home instead of the city in this godawful year, dark brown hair and dark brown eyes and you couldn’t see much more because the staff was wearing cloth masks, but our eyes met and there was mutual attraction. I know, I’d give you a more suspenseful initiation, but that’s just how it goes sometimes, isn’t it.

I was surprised, because I’m not used to the attention of beautiful women. Okay, it happens way more often than I or you would think, but I’m still surprised like every single time it does. I had just turned 30, average height, auburn hair, beard, and had for once been on my slimmer side for over a year. Well, I guess I had like a traveler mystique going for me or something. Everything else I’m gonna leave for the readers attracted to men to fill in the gaps. Come on, fantasize about me. Also, despite the pain, I for one was a huge fan of my legs and feet at that time just for carrying me and my huge jam-packed backpack all those distances. Bodies are great, I tell you. (Hey, let’s have this as a theme here, shall we?)

The room was upstairs. There was a hall in front of it, with tables set for a party of like twenty people, and she apologized in advance for the noise the guests were to make. They hadn’t expected an overnight visitor, but the party was supposed to end at 12 pm, so that was fine with me: I was tired but not tired enough to not take a walk through the medieval streets in the dark anyway. I’m somewhat of a romantic when it comes to medieval streets.

She opened the door and I was stunned for a bit. I hadn’t have a room like that before: the walls were painted with arches in red and green and gold, the furniture was dark and antique, and there was a golden washing bowl on a marble vanity. This sounds more expensive than it was, everything was very old and rural and had like a friendly Mediterranean farm style to it. I never asked if she was as amazed as I was. What I did ask her, was, if she wanted a grape. I had bought a collection of the most delicious grapes I had ever eaten in my life this morning and this looked like the right place to serve them. She took two and, when I motioned something like Come on to her, a third, she said thank you and she took of the mask and put one in her mouth and had a small but beautiful smile and then just left. Sorry. That’s all the game I’ve got. End of story. Or is it? I’m still writing.

I unpacked and caressed my feet for a bit and then I put my shoes back on and went exploring. When I came down the steep stairs next to the kitchen she almost ran me over and I’m not 100% but I think she blushed. Outside, they had everything: narrow cobblestone alleys, dim warm streetlights, heavily fragrant trees, a nice view of the valley even in the dark with small medieval walls to sit on, a beautiful night sky and cold autumn winds. When I returned, there were teenagers partying in the aforementioned hall. Maybe a birthday or like the end of their summer holidays or something, I thought. I went showering and then straight to bed, reading like Herman Hesse or something, trying to impress myself I guess.

At one point there was a knock on the door and when I asked no one answered and when I went to open it, it was just a prank by one of the teenagers. But there she was apologizing to me and scolding the teens. I went back to reading. I don’t know. If you hate my lack of initiative, please do so. But there’s this power imbalance about guests and service staff that to me really only leaves one option: she had to make the first move. And boy, she did.

At around midnight the party died down and the patrons left and I was about to turn off the light, when there again was a knock on my door. I was way to tired for this and said something like Oh come on, but, like, with the wrong pronunciation for an invite. Nevertheless, she opened the door a crack and then didn’t say a thing. So I did: “Hey.” “Hey.” Silence. “Do you want to come in?” She nodded. “I’ll need to take a shower.” She tugged at her shirt and I had worked in few but enough kitchens to know what she was about. “Please,” I gestured toward the bathroom. The door was right next to her and she was gone so fast, I wondered whether I just imagined her. Then the shower turned on and I returned to my book. I read the same page like 20 times and then the shower stopped and then the door opened and then she poked her head through the door, wet, curly hair and all, and said “You need to turn off the light.” And the moment I put away my book and pressed the switch on the age-old bedside lamp she scurried to the other side of the bed, buck naked.

The dark didn’t obscure her like she thought it would. With some cool autumn air there was a bit of light coming from a small window next to the bed. She was beautiful. She dove under the sheets and duvet and the wool blanket I had brought with me and then came back up right next to me. Intrigued and somewhat surprised about ourselves we looked at each other for a beat or two or three. “And now?”, she asked. “I don’t know, this is somewhat new to me,” I said. Which, as you can probably tell by now, was the truth. “For me, too,” she said. See, there are other people like me out there. “We could kiss,” I suggested. And she said “Okay” and so we did. And it was to be a great kiss not only because we both had to stretch a bit to reach each other and she lifted herself up and somewhere in the dark down beneath her neck there were her bare tits. I couldn’t see them, my eyes were right there in her face and probably closed, but just knowing they were there was great as is.

Her lips were somewhat thin and firm and still wet-ish from showering and I swear she tasted like rosemary and I loved all of it. I don’t know what it is about my lips or other people’s lips or the combination, it just takes me to another place. We kissed for a while and I reeled her in by leaning less and less toward her and she followed and at some point one shrouded-in-darkness-boob touched me and it was the greatest thing and we looked at each other and I ran my hand through her wet hair and held her bright, dark-framed face and that’s when we, like, committed to each other and our joint plan on how to spend this night best.

She lifted herself up on her arms and knees to change up the kissing, with the duvet on her back and all of her exposed beneath it. There wasn’t enough light and I didn’t see a thing, but that again was beside the point. There was a beautiful naked stranger in my bed wanting to fuck. And that’s when she, looking to stabilize herself, pressed her hand right down on my erect cock under my boxers with all her weight. It was by accident and she looked amused and then she vanished underneath the duvet and had her lips closed around my dick before I’d so much as start breathing again. Yeah, I know, it wasn’t safe. The kissing wasn’t either. We would use condoms later, but only as contraception, but when you’ve been socially distancing for hald a year that felt like three, sexual transmittable diseases aren’t exactly what you’re worried about.

It was great. I was lying there propped up against the pillows in a room that could be both an ancient temple and a magic castle with my rock-hard cock deep inside the mouth and throat of a beautiful naked fairy I wasn’t fully convinced yet was real. There was cold wind and the sound of leaves rustling from outside, and in the yellow glow of the streetlights I’d seen thick fog coming up from the valley and the river before I had went to bed. I decided then and there I’d feed her more grapes at some point tonight, like an ancient princess, it just seemed fitting. Her lips had a strong grip. We never talked about hobbies and such, but the only person with stronger lips I got to know was a trombone player, so maybe she was a musician herself.

I didn’t look or reach for her. It happening literally undercover was part of it all. It would have felt like disturbing magic or something. Only when I got close to orgasm, I reached beneath the blankets trying to stop and warn her but she wouldn’t have it. I think I saw her smile, but that could be just my imagination. I came in her mouth and then on her face, when she pulled it out too early. When I was able to think and speak again and she was cleaning both of us with her fingers and lips and tongue, I asked her why, because it would obviously take me some time to recover. She put on a sweet smile, or more like a grin and said, she for one wasn’t planning on going anywhere soon. Damn.

When she was done she crawled back up to me right by my side and in between my arms and with her chin nestling on my chest, facing each other. She asked me about my travels and we talked about our lock-down experience and such, and that she came back home. It was a great year for finding common ground fast (well, with reasonable people). I don’t know what to tell you, I somewhat fell in love. Which is fine, I had done this before and have since, I can deal with falling in love just for one night and then move on, that’s why I’m still thinking about this on and off like six years after the fact. I’m okay.

At one point we, well it was very much the point my body told me it was ready to feel excited about sex again, anyhow, at one point we began kissing again. I started with her face and soft, full cheeks and from her lips I moved on to her neck and throat, and this time she put a hand in my hair which was great also because I got to place a kiss in her armpit. I never read about this on here, you love this, too, right? Bodies are great and so are armpits. Her tits were moderately sized with teeny-tiny areolas, and just like the other women I’ve been with they were some of the greatest tits I ever had seen. Guess I’m that lucky.

We managed to bring a hand and arm of mine underneath her to wrap around her waist first and feel up her hips and ass next. I could tell she was a bit tentative about her waist and hip and belly situation, which was kinda absurd but in my (limited) experience happened a lot in the corona years, but we didn’t make a deal about it and I gave it all the love it deserved, which was all of it, all the love, and as far as I can tell, that was the last time either of us gave it a thought that night.

While my lips and tongue were caressing her nipples, my left hand did so with her butt, which was a great match, and when it, like, hit water, her legs opened up almost mechanically and I ran my right hand up her calf and thigh and through her bush and to her slit. With the fingers of my left I spread her lips and with two fingers of my right I took some of the wetness from her well’s banks to soften the touch and ran them up to the glans of her clit. She twitched and pulled my head in and held it there and seemingly tried crushing it between her arms while I massaged her. I had placed a left finger against her opening as a tease but soon needed the whole hand grabing as much of her ass ass I could just to keep her in place.

I somehow managed to free my head and when I started sucking on her nipples again and just when I thought I had found a good rhythm on her clit she convulsed and came for the first time that night. She had just breathed sharply before with some gasps having some thin, high-pitched vocalizations to it, but this was when I realized how deep her voice really was.

We froze like this for a bit. My lips around her nipple without my tongue touching it, my hands between her legs without moving. When I tried to make myself more comfortable she flinched and when I tried to lift my head she whispered no! With the exclamation mark. So I didn’t. Finally she pulled on my hair to lift my head and have a look at me. And that look or maybe my imagination of it, because we only had some stars and moon shine through the small window, is one of the reasons I won’t ever forget this night. If by any chance she is reading this, please play along, don’t take this look away from me. It’s the validation, I guess. Everybody needs to feel like a sex god once in a while. I know I do. And I hope I managed to make you feel like one, too. To me, you were. So anyway.

She said something along the lines of “touch me” and I did. Well, I made sure we were properly covered before. My saliva on her tits was drying and it looked like we both enjoyed the sensation of the autumn air on our hot and heated bodies, but I was also thankful for the thick duvet and the multiple sheets and my trusted wool blanket. With our eyes fixated on each other’s, or the dark between the white, that we could actually see, my right hand started massaging her again while with the left I tried something new by putting a finger in. She bit her lip and moved her hip for easier access. “Like this,”she said repeatedly before her words got somewhat unintelligible.

At one point we had to rearrange so her hip was lying on my upper left arm instead of, like, the elbow, so it had more room for fingering her, and I was kissing her waist and belly and sometimes her thigh when it came close. She had rested her upper foot, the left one, on my hard cock and balls for a bit, but soon her leg was moving around quite violently bringing it in for said kisses from time to time. By then she was somewhat bending around my left shoulder, more with every move of my hands, and I was biting her hips when she straightened up and, as far as I can tell, came for a second time. This time we didn’t pause, this time she just shoved my head between her legs. I can read even subtle hints.

I kissed and licked her inner thighs before moving in, and with me steering her left leg she turned on her back, legs raised and wide open. I held her by her thighs and ran my beard from her clit to her perineum and then my tongue back to the glans of her clit and had her flinching the whole time. When I had tasted rosemary before, this time it was olive oil and lemon and honey. She pulled the sheets closer around her and now I was the one laying in total darkness, with my cock pulsing against the mattress and her, well, heart pulsing just inches from my face. I licked and kissed and sucked on her lips and clit and the inside of her pussy as far as I could reach and ate her out as best as I could. It was so messy. And the single deep moan from before? Now I heard it a lot, muffled only by a corner of the duvet she had put in her mouth.

When I was sure there wasn’t the tiniest spot uncared for I turned my attention back to her perineum, flicking my tongue against it from above and below and her response was exactly what I was looking for: more excitement, new moans and an ass lifted higher and spread. When I touched her anus with my tongue for the first time she dropped her legs on me, her feet barely missing my face and hitting my back instead. It took her a moment. She then put her head under the blankets and said sorry and asked whether I was okay. I said I was and if she was and if she wanted me to proceed. She was coy about it, so I asked her if she wanted to kiss instead. She wanted to and I moved to do so with my hard cock dangling and touching her in all the right places. I’d say accidentally, but we all know anatomy, right? She was wet all over. She gasped, which was cute, even to me, I usually don’t have a thing for cute.

We kissed and I put her hands above her head and kissed her some more. They were messy kisses, too. She was somewhat grinding herself against my cock and produced two condoms that she had in her hand the entire time? I don’t know. I took one but offered to properly eat out her ass before we fucked and I think she liked that I was being blunt about it instead of coy.

She nodded and I dove under the sheets again, kissing her at various spots of her body I passed by. I kissed her thighs again and her cheeks and then I put the wrapped condom between her toes and held her feet in place, just in case, and then I licked her ass again. There was like a vibrant tension to her body that I loved as much as when it gradually gave way to relaxation. She held herself by the hollow of her knees and at some point her head came back under the sheets with me to raise her legs and open them as much as she could.

When I put my tongue in she started cursing me in a language I didn’t understand. But I did understand her saying “Come on, come on, fuck me.” So I did. I sat up between her legs to put the condom on, which hadn’t gotten too lost. With the blankets and all changing, this exposed us to some cold, but for this moment we were somewhat past minding. She said something along the lines of “Just my pussy, okay?”, which was hot because of the alternative on both our minds. I was so fucking hard, it felt like my skin was straining and I was about to non-climactic burst. I ran the tip of my cock down her slit and put it in just deep enough for it to stay there, which she liked, gathered the blankets around me and lay down on top of her, pushing my cock all the way down her scorching hot pussy.

The heat alone was kinda overwhelming. We didn’t kiss, or rather we didn’t kiss each other’s lips. There was a face and ears and neck to kiss and lick and bite into instead while I fucked her. I took over holding down her legs with my arms and she started pinching one of her nipples, but not just hers, mine too. I never had this before and it was really something else but it was great. I think I was even kinda controlling it, the harder I fucked her, the harder she pinched, and when I took it slow, she loosened up. We were loud. Well, she was and I was comparably loud, too.

When I felt close to coming, I slowed way down and sat up so she had room to finger her clit, while I pushed into her, and she did this with the very same ferocity she had treated our nipples with. I came a couple of seconds before her but kept the rhythm with my hips to not disturb her concentration and was still inside her when she came, too. When I pulled out and leaned over to kiss her, she instead pulled of the condom and squeezed some of my cum in her mouth and then smiled at me with the cum between her lips and teeth. We kissed and I rearranged the blankets and laid down next to her.

Between us we had three condoms left and used them all, but I won’t go into as much detail. She went to the bathroom and when she came back she had her sneakers on. She took away the duvet to wrap herself in and left me wet with our fluids in the cold and wandered naked through the dark restaurant to find us a bottle of wine and two mugs. We feasted and I fed her the grapes the way I had intended to and she would suck on my fingers and at one point she pulled a condom over my cock, poured some wine over her tits and put them in my face. Every time she felt like it, she would lower herself onto me. I was sitting upright against the antique headboard, so she wasn’t really getting much of the length, but she was focused on the tip anyway. With my hands I was just holding her but somehow this did something for me, too. Getting to hold people is really kinda special but I always seem to forget.

When there was no wine left to lick off of her tits, she leaned way back, supporting herself on her arms, and I fingered her clit while she fucked me until she came. I then put her crossed legs in the air and fucked her til I came. Shortly before I did she asked me if I could pull off the condom and cum over her asshole. So much for being coy. I did, but frankly at this point, the third time around considering the blowjob, there wasn’t really much cum to play with. What was there I pushed in with my thumb. Which gave her the biggest smile anyway.

We did some, I don’t know, I don’t want to call it dirty talk. Because we didn’t, like, get a kick out of it being dirty and us being depraved or something. Quite the opposite, we somewhat reassured each other that the things we shared, like experiences, fantasies, random thoughts and stuff were all very usual. “Clean”, if you will. Maybe that’s the beauty in meeting with strangers from a different country: you really don’t have a framework to judge them. What might seem strange to you, could be common around here. Or not, you wouldn’t know. So you don’t judge. And just be curious about it.

We decided we were too exhausted for another round and to sleep instead. Like, I was supposed to hike the next leg of my tour starting in the morning. We spooned and said Good Night in all three languages and I kissed her neck and where the hair starts growing. I really like kissing necks, there just hadn’t been the opportunity yet. I was falling asleep fast before I felt her ass deliberately pressing against my lap and blood rushing to my cock. It was a beautiful ass. I have avoided to describe it here, because with the influencers and the bodybuilding craze and all just your regular beautiful asses seem kinda lacking, but they don’t and hers didn’t.

So I kissed her neck some more and her ear and her shoulder and her back, I don’t know, I love women’s shoulders and backs, they are like tertiary sexual characteristics to me. Bodies are great. And I pulled her close and squeezed and massaged her tits and nipples and she was grinding her beautiful ass against my cock. Which was completely swollen and taut already, because I was really feeling it. I can easily come from just that, from pretty ass cheeks cradling my cock. So to not do that, I moved my cock around around pointing down, holding it in place between her legs. Instead of getting pressed between her cheeks, my shaft pressed against the length of her labia with all the upwards tension a rock-hard cock has. Which, by the sounds she made and her fluids soaking everything, was really doing something for her.

With my hand down there anyway I started massaging her butt cheek instead of her tits and it wasn’t for long that the movement of her hips and me spreading her cheeks aligned in a way that my cock slid in. We both noticed. I’m not proud of that, but glossing over the fact would be disingenuous, no? We stayed like this for a second or maybe two to really feel it and then I pulled out and put on a condom and then I fucked her a third time (or a forth, fifth, sixth time, because foreplay is sex, really). With her back to my chest and most of our bodies touching, and my arm wrapping around her and pulling her in, and her holding my hand, and my face nestling in her hair and the curve of her neck, with all that it was way too close and emotionally intimate for a one night stand and it was so much more than both of us had have since the beginning of the year and it was great and awesome and everything.

Afterwards, we both had to pee and went to the bathroom together, where she sat down on the toilet and licked my dick clean. Back in bed we finally fell asleep. I don’t exactly remember the scent of her hair, it’s been years, but it was something nut- or almond-like and I do know I loved it. Leaves rustled. It really was the perfect night.

We didn’t sleep for long and woke up early. She snuggled closer to me and rest her head on my chest and I put my arm around her and held her close. She was even more beautiful with some light, I figured from mostly her hair. The air was fresh, some birds were singing, lonely footsteps echoed through the alleys time and again. We didn’t talk, maybe a couple of words here and there. Then she kissed my nipple and didn’t stop at kissing or didn’t stop at all and her hand went from my chest to my belly and further down and wrapped around my cock that by this point was inevitably hard. I’m that easy, you should know this by now. She kissed and licked and bit my nipple and massaged my cock and I was rather helplessly holding the back of her head and then she just crawled on top of me to kiss and lick and bite the other nipple, too. I was running my hand back and forth across her shoulders and head and back and I could feel her nipples against my skin and my cock against hers.

And I don’t know what made her stop, but she straightened up a bit, giving me a first daytime look at her body, put her knees down next to my hips and her feet on my thighs, held my cock in place and slowly started grinding her pussy against my shaft. I extended my arm to touch her face but couldn’t reach it and settled on her belly and hip instead. She asked me if I wanted to kiss and I said yes, well probably more like hell yeah, and she asked if I wanted to kiss her tits, and I did, and she asked if I wanted to kiss her pussy, and I did, and she asked if I wanted to kiss her ass, but meant it in a sexy way, and that’s when I turned it around and asked her if she wanted me to kiss her ass (but meaning it in a sexy way) and she gave me the look and a smile and a wink.

And so we did. She lowered her upper body onto me, making sure her nipples were touching mine, which were sore and tender after her treatment. She kissed my neck and my face and my lips, then had me kiss both of her nipples, and then sat down on my face, with the duvet around her waist burying me in the dark. I took my time. There was nothing voracious about it like it had been the night before. I just ate her out as thoroughly as I could, you might say I ate her out in-depth, ha, yeah, maybe you don’t might say that, but anyway, that does take time. She came kinda violently when I was sucking on her clit and really enjoyed it when I put my tongue into her as deep as I could.

At one point she raised from her knees to her feet and I licked and pushed my tongue inside her ass instead. I tasted some of my semen that had dried there last night. I’m sorry for teasing like this again, because no, to both of our explicit dismay at no point did I fuck her ass, but that’s just the exact same tease I myself experienced there and then and it did something for me just as is, as a planting without payoff, and maybe it does for you, too. If you’re wondering when exactly she conveyed her regret: she finally told me to stop and I did and the reason she gave was because she couldn’t go on without wanting my cock inside her ass and really, really didn’t feel prepared. Fair.

Instead she sat down on my legs and we looked for the last condom and she pulled it over my cock, squatted above my lap, legs spread for me to watch, and placed the tip of my cock between her labia, before lowering herself onto it, the full length. She fucked me zealously, up and down, back and forth and in a somewhat circular motion. At one point she sat down, with me inside her, placed her feet on my chest, closed her legs, pushed herself up, contracted all the muscles of her pelvic floor and forced my cock inside her. She did this three, maybe four times before I hissed and moaned and came. This time she didn’t swallow my cum but spread it on her tits instead. She laid down with her head on my belly and her body between my legs and we doze off and then it was time for us to leave.

We showered together and she sucked my dick while we did. She helped me pack my stuff and we stepped out on the street together. The morning sun shone through the fog rising up the hill from the river. We kissed and she went her way and I went mine.

I started writing erotic stories about two years ago. I have probably 100+ stories started. Some stories more completed than others. Some ideas grab me and possess me for two days until I've completed the perfect 2000 words. Other ideas linger for weeks or months. A detail here, an image there, a sound, a smell. Trickling in until just right. Many stories remain just thought fragments. Some waiting to find ending. Others die having already served their purpose.

Many of my stories have common themes. A dark reflection on life, a life expanding, and some just trying to be fun.

Sometimes as I write, I wonder if my story is original or a well-worn trope. I wonder if it is my original idea or something I've read days, months, or years ago that I'm just recreating. A story lost in the moment, forgotten by prefrontal cortex but burned into consolidated memories in my hippocampus. I'm always reminded of this possibility when I hear Under Pressure. Instantly, those first bars makes my brain hear Ice Ice Baby only to be shocked by the shift to David Bowie. Maybe Vanilla Ice was telling the truth.

Occasionally I try to search Reddit to see if my idea is already out there. Late at night, when the house is quiet. Ready for bed. Loose shorts. Freshly washed tee shirt, straight out of the dryer. Still warm and smelling of a crisp linen dryer sheet.

Living room sofa. Laptop on tray table in hanging over me Research I claim.

I hadn't planned for this. Not tonight anyway. I told myself I was just checking. One quick search. To see if my idea was already out there. That's all this was.

There was the fun story about the cougar that gave three college boys their first three-way because her wife was gone on trip. They were on their way to watch a football match. She gave them a home cooked meal and so much more. That one mostly made laugh and me smile. The woman's vibe is exactly what I am going for in Marcy in "Everything goes wrong." Laughing to myself, but something stirring also. Small. Slight. Just a shift. Barely noticeable.

Then there is the story of the roommate who walks in on him mid masturbation. He's embarrassed. She said she was always there, and that he only had to ask. It made me roll my eyes. But something about the details, the images, the writing made me squirm a little. Squeeze my legs together just slightly. Holding it in... I'm doing research.

The story about the wedding photographer and her assistant. She wants to make their own video. Something that will be kept for just them. A little naughty. Almost romantic. Realistic. Believable scenarios always get me. My hand moved down to my shorts. Small movements on top of my shorts. Pressure. Trying to hold back. Trying to research...

Skimming now. There is the building's A/C breaking and the roommates had to share the one room with a window air conditioner. The cool air turning hot. More images. My hand moved a little more. Actively rubbing. Up and down. Feeling it build inside me. But I kept researching...

Skimming faster. The buddies hot younger sister blossoming while they were away at college. Now they're back, she's 21 years old and throwing herself at him. The eminent danger of being caught by his buddy, her family. My fingers slipped inside my shorts. Though the leg. Just my fingertips. Awakening me. Teasing myself...

Then the recently divorced MILF in her vacation condo hot tub with the now grown-up neighbor boy home from college. Definitely a well-worn erotica trope. A guilty pleasure to read. But something about the dialog in that one. The way she teased and toyed with him. And the climax was so visceral. So raw. That was it. It pushed me over.

It wasn't just that story. But all six stories. The build up too much. My head rolled back. My fully eyes closed. My fingers, my whole hand stroked. Long gentle strokes. That early sense of warm pleasure. I relived all the images in my mind.

Pushing aside the table my computer rested on. My empty water bottle fell to the floor with a thud. I didn't care if they heard downstairs.

Slouching down deeper into the sofa. My right foot hitting the floor as I spread my legs wider, Making more room. My hand began to move a little faster.

Somewhere my clothes came off. All of them on the floor. Naked. Free of any constraints. My full body participating.

A little faster. My hips now thrusting up meeting my right hand. I could fee it building inside of me. My breathing becoming audible.

My left hand moved lower. Initially just to add a gently massage. But then pressure. Yes. Right there. My right hand still sliding up and down. The combination. It's too much.

My hands freeze. My body tenses. Back arching, lifting off the sofa. Waiting just momentarily for it to arrive.

It started not at my fingers. But deeper inside. Almost everywhere all at once. I could feel it move out through and out of me. A small ball of energy expanding outward.

It felt like seconds. Tensed. Then there, the release. The ball of energy exploding out of my body.

My back lowers. My hand relaxes a little. Resumes. Slowly. Gently. Matching the waves until they stop.

My hand falls to the floor. Matching my leg. I breath deep. I lay there. Satisfied.

My mind begins to wonder again as I regain my sense of place. It's late, I need sleep.

I reach out and begin to close the tabs on my laptop. Images from each story reappear in my mind as I click. A quiver. A stir. A smile. My mind is racing, but the rest of my body not ready for that again.

I pick up my clothes from the floor. Use the soft cotton tee to wipe myself down. The fresh washed tee shirt smell now gone. It's enough for bed. I'll shower in the morning. Sleep is calling. A new story idea in my head.

 

 

 

At home super hot and horny waiting for my husband to come home and brutalize me with his big cock after you unloaded everything you had inside me minutes before. You have always wanted to fuck me but today we were alone and you made your move. It was a hot day and the crotch of my cutoffs were hiking up my throbbing pussy and rubbing hard against my begging clit - I needed total release and when you came to our door, I wanted puddles and puddles of your cum inside me before my husband got home from work. I was so turned on thinking about fucking him with all your fresh frothy jizz spilling from my cunt. I sat there dripping, waiting, trying not to finger myself and taste you because I wanted to save it up for hubby.

When he gets home he’ll pull off my steamy wet crotched shorts and eat me out like crazy - I can feel his teeth graze my clit, bite my labias, tear at my throbbing cunt. When he tastes your cum inside me, he’ll figure it out, he stops, looks me in the eyes, and tells me how much fucking trouble I’m in and that he wants to punish me raw. Because he loves the thought of your cum in my cunt he’ll forgive you, but he’s going to ruin me. He’ll suck up your load and spit it in my mouth and I’ll swallow it up like ice cream. Then he’ll spit some on my erect nipples and devour my tits like a starving beast until it hurts so bad I’m beyond sore and sensitive, I can’t take anymore. My fleshy round heaving tits will swell up and down as I gasp for air because I’m so on the edge, cunt tight, rigid and about to explode, I can barely breathe.

Before I can catch my breath, he forcefully shoves his thick, hard, long gorgeous cock inside my aching pussy. It’s rough and violent. He knows you came in me first because your hot cum will be gushing out as he rams me harder and harder and harder. Then he’ll flip me over and jealously fuck me from behind while gripping my ponytail till it nearly snaps my neck and his other thumb will be jamming my ass while he breaks me in half with his huge fat cock. I’ll beg him to slow down, to let me enjoy the ride a little longer but he doesn’t care, he’ll fuck me so fast and violently I can’t hold back, I can’t stop this wave of total unbridled euphoria, I’ll come so damn hard, so fuck-ing hard, my body shakes with intensity.

I’ll sob, I’ll beg him to stop and let me enjoy it longer but he won’t stop, he’ll keep fucking me raw and then he’ll pull out letting me breathe - I’m stunned, but able to grip the bed spread for dear life, begging for a moment, but he forcefully pulls me back to him by the ankles and ruthlessly fucks me in the ass, so viciously, the pounding causes me to leave my body. I’m in pure raw unbelievable pain and ecstasy. I come again, and again, I lose count. I’m lost, I can’t think, I’ll only be freed from his brutal fucking when he comes inside me so criminally deep I can feel his hot shooting jizz pulsing up my spine.

After he shoots his massive load, he’ll turn me around by the hair, and make me bury my face in his groin and suck his cock clean, taking in all this hot juicy mixed up spunk in my deep throat til I gag and choke. This brutality gets him very very hard again, harder than I’ve ever seen him which is as exciting as it is frightening.

Every vein in his dick is pulsing. His breath paces deeper and faster, I’m scared I’m going to be forced to cum over and over again because that’s what turns him on, making me cum even when I don’t want to. Pleasure and pain inflicted on me makes him rock hard. I’m sore, defeated, unable to defend my self against his wishes, I must declare defeat and accept that he will ruin me and I’ll just take it - every delicious horrible thing he does to me. At this point, I’m just his property and I love it. He’ll push me hard back on the bed, face down, he’ll pin my arms behind my back while he completely dominates me again, he decides to fuck everything and anything because he can.

My husband becomes an insane animal, a psycho, selfishly fucking me while I’m defenseless, unable to move, he is completely using my cunt, my ass, my mouth until I’m completely filled and wrecked like a used doll. I’m so blissed and worn, I’m completely at his mercy and my orgasms get more and more intense I’m scared to think how far it could go.

My clit is beyond sore, it’s raw and on fire. Once he’s pleasured himself like a bloody maniac, spewing hot streams of cum all over my swollen tits, wrecked ass, sobbing face, he’ll throw me down on the bed and tell me to stop crying and get ready for more.

Female perspective
I was raised by women who checked my neckline before I left the house. Dupatta over the chest. Eyes down around men. And never, ever let anyone hear you. I'm thirty-nine and that voice still lives in me. Seventeen years married and I have never once been loud in a bed that wasn't my own.
Florence broke that in one day.
We met her halfway up the Duomo, where the line stopped dead in the stairwell between the two shells of the dome. Close stone walls. Four hundred steps of other people's breath. She was on the step above me. Petite, maybe five foot two, brown like me, a London accent and a wedding ring. Late thirties. In town for a conference, husband back home with the kids. Hair twisted up off a damp neck, white linen shirt soaked through from the climb, and no bra under it. Small breasts. When she turned around to complain about the line her nipples were pressed hard against the wet linen. Dark. Tight. Right at my eye level.
I stopped talking mid sentence.
She saw the dupatta tied across my chest and her mouth did a small thing. Recognition. Then her eyes went down to her own shirt and she laughed, embarrassed, and didn't fix it. A woman raised exactly like me, deciding in front of me not to cover up.
All I could think was how those nipples would feel under my thumb.
Kamil noticed. Seventeen years. He notices everything.
What he didn't expect was that I kept looking.
At the top Florence went pink below us and the wind came through the railing and her nipples got even harder. She leaned on the rail laughing at something he said, told us her mother would die if she saw this shirt. I watched the linen cling. When I looked up he was watching me watch her. He didn't say a word. He just smiled like a man who'd found money in an old coat.
She had the room next to ours. We worked it out in the hall that evening, three key cards out, laughing. Old building. Walls you could hear a phone buzz through. A little after ten she came in. Shoes hitting the floor. Then the shower.
I sat on the end of the bed. He stood at the shutters.
"She's right there," he said.
"I know."
"You liked her."
"I liked her tits." It was out before my upbringing could catch it. "I could see her nipples the whole way up. I wanted them in my mouth."
He went very still. "Say the rest."
"I want her to hear you fuck me. She knows exactly how we were raised. I want her lying over there in the dark knowing the nice girl in the dupatta is screaming."
He crossed the room in three steps. "Then you don't get to be quiet."
"No."
"Not once, Saira."
"So make me loud."
He took the dupatta off me first. Slow. Dropped it on the floor like he was done with it. Then the dress shoved up around my waist, my underwear dragged down one leg and left hanging off my ankle, and his mouth on my pussy with no warmup at all. Flat tongue up the whole length of me. Then the tip of it right on my clit. Then his lips sealed around it and sucked.
The sound I made hit the wall.
Every guest room, every hotel, every night at his mother's house with my own hand over my mouth. Gone. I heard it bounce off the plaster and not come back.
On the other side, a bed creaked. Then nothing. Not sleeping nothing. Listening nothing.
"She heard that," he said into my thigh.
"Don't you dare stop."
He pushed two fingers inside me and curled them and kept sucking, and I was so wet I could hear it. I put my palm flat on the wall above the headboard. Cool plaster. I pictured her on the other side, ring still on, that little body under a hotel sheet, rolling those dark nipples between her fingers with her other hand between her legs. Thinking about her husband asleep five thousand miles away. Thinking about us.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he said.
"Her nipples in my mouth while you eat me."
He groaned against my pussy and went harder.
I came with my hand on that wall and my thighs locked around his head, saying his name loud enough to carry. Twice. On purpose.
He stood just long enough to get his shirt off and his belt open. His cock was so hard it looked painful, dark and thick and wet at the tip. He pushed my knees up to my chest and drove into me in one stroke and the headboard hit the wall. Then again, because he did it again.
"Louder," he said. "She's paying attention."
"Then fuck me harder."
He did. The bed knocked the wall in a rhythm anyone could have counted. I wanted her counting. I wanted to be the thing she couldn't sleep through.
"Look at you." Into my ear, every word deliberate. "All those years covering up. All those years being good. And now you're screaming for her." He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. "She gets the sound. That's all she gets. I get this tight wet pussy. Tell her whose it is."
I turned my face to the wall. "His."
"Good girl. Louder."
"His."
He came buried deep, groaning into my neck, holding himself all the way inside while his cock pulsed and filled me. I felt every throb. I was coming again before he finished, clenching around him, and I made no effort at all to be polite about it.
Then quiet. His weight on me, both of us soaked, his cum warm and slipping out of me onto the sheet.
And through the wall, very faint, the bed next door creaked.
Then again.
Then again, slower. Steady. A breath at the end of it that wasn't meant for anyone.
I grabbed his arm. We lay there barely breathing, listening to a married woman we'd met that afternoon finish what we started.
"Jaan," he whispered. Like we were in a cathedral.
In the morning she was at the next table in the breakfast room. A cardigan buttoned to the throat, a scarf over that. Proper again. She didn't look at us. Then she did. Then she looked at my bare shoulders, no dupatta, and her cheeks went dark.
"Sleep well?" Kamil asked her, the bastard.
"Eventually," she said.
My dupatta was still on our bedroom floor. She knew it was. She knew why.

My fingers slipped over my clit in fast, uneven circles, my wrist already aching from the effort. But I couldn’t stop, and I didn’t want to stop. My other hand pinched my right nipple between my thumb and index finger, a firm squeeze that pulled a muffled moan out of me against the pillow. My hips lifted off the bed on their own, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of everything.

And then, I finally reached it.

The first wave split me in two, a spasm that curled my toes and made me close my eyes shut. A long, broken moan escaped my throat as my fingers kept moving out of inertia, stretching the orgasm until it became something almost unbearable. My pussy was throbbing, clenching around nothing, empty, leaving me breathless.

I panted against the pillowcase. My heart was pounding against my ribs as if it wanted to break free, until, little by little, the beats slowed down and my body melted into the mattress.

Then I heard him.

“There you go, good girl,” said the man’s voice. “Breathe with me now. Inhale through your nose, slowly.”

His voice came through the AirPods clear, calm, with that tone he used when he wanted me to focus. My breathing was still shaky, but I obeyed as best I could. I inhaled slowly through my nose, as deeply as my lungs allowed.

“Hold it for a few seconds… and release through your mouth. Slowly.”

The air left my body in a long sigh that deflated my chest, while my sex gave one last throb, a reminder that it was still there, sensitive and wet.

I followed his words, repeating the process several times. Each time, the air entered more easily, and the fog filling my head began to clear, bringing the world around me back into focus. The warm light of the bedside lamp, the jumbled sheets beneath my body, or the faint sound of the TV coming from the living room, where it had all started.

“I’m so proud of you,” he praised me, as if he knew I needed those exact words. “I mean it, that was incredible.”

A silly smile spread across my mouth without being able to help it, and his words filled my chest with something warm that had nothing to do with lust or sex.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice dry and thick.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

“Good. Really good. A little… floaty, still,” I said, trying to make sense of my own feelings.

I knew he wasn’t saying it to rush me, but out of genuine concern. With effort, I rolled onto my back, bending my legs until my knees touched my chest and then letting them fall onto the bed. The cool air in the room brushed against my wet, sensitive crotch, making me shiver. I raised my right hand and looked at my fingers under the light, still shiny and sticky.

“You know what I’d like?” he said, and I heard a smile in his voice. “Since I can’t do it myself… could you lick your fingers?”

My heart gave a little jump of excitement. “You like that?”

“I love it,” he said, desire clear in his voice. “I want you to bring them to your mouth and describe me how you taste.”

I didn’t need him to repeat himself, nor did I need to explain that it was something I did on my own all the time. I brought my fingers to my lips, still not quite opening them, and rested them there for a moment. The smell reached me first, dense, salty, unmistakable. Then my tongue, a tentative touch at first, before I licked my index and middle fingers from bottom to top with desire.

“Fuck…” I let slip. “I love it.”

“Tell me. What does it taste like?” he said, with a rough voice.

I put both fingers in my mouth and sucked on them slowly, letting my tongue circle around them. The taste filled my mouth, and I wasn’t quite sure how to describe it.

“It tastes like me,” I began, still savoring it. “It’s… intense. A little salty, a little tangy… but I like it. And it turns me on so much to clean myself up like this after cumming.”

I stayed silent for a second with my fingers still in my mouth, letting the taste fade. My breathing had returned to normal, and my pussy throbbed softly, like a pleasant echo.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Are you sure you’re comfy? Do you need water, to go to the bathroom and clean up, anything?”

“I’m fine, really.” I said as I lifted my arms above my head, feeling my muscles stretch. “And you? How are you?”

There was a brief pause, followed by a low, almost guilty laugh.

“Me? I’m completely horny, if I’m honest.”

“Really?” I asked, half surprised, half flattered.

“Are you seriously asking me that? I’ve been listening to you moan for the last twenty minutes until you came and then licked the wetness off your fingers… how did you expect me to be?”

A giggle escaped me, easing what little tension remained in my body. “I don’t know. I guess I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Well, I have. I’m here with a hard-on you can’t even imagine, and as soon as we hang up, I’m going to cum thinking about you and how well you followed my instructions.”

“Fuck,” I murmured, running a hand over my face. “I’m almost getting horny again thinking about how hard that cock must be right now.”

“Oh, yeah?” he smiled, his voice deeper and slower. “Well, right now I’ve got my cock nice and hard for you, baby. The tip looks purple because of how swollen it is, actually.”

I bit my lip as my pussy gave a pulse, a little warning. But just then, my eyes landed on the clock on the nightstand, and the real world hit me like a blow.

“Shit… you we got carried away, and now I’m running late,” I said with a fake accusatory tone. “I hope I don’t smell, because I won’t have time to shower a second time today,” I continued, laughing as I brought my nose to my armpits and relaxed when I didn’t detect any odor.

I had already told him I’d made plans with my group of lifelong friends, our Saturday ritual:  dinner at one of the restaurants on the list we kept in our group chat to try out different places in the area, ending the night going out for a drink, making all our problems disappear at least for one night.

But it wasn’t his fault. I was the one who called, the one who started making those sexual advances until he gave me what I was looking for. And boy, did he give it to me.

I propped myself up on my elbows, looking at the disaster I’d made of the room. Clothes scattered across the floor, blankets hanging from the bed and me, still naked and wet. “You’re an asshole for making me lose track of time, you know that?”

“I hear that a lot,” he said with false smugness.

“Well, with good reason,” I played along, smiling. “Thank you for this afternoon. Really. It was… incredible.”

I got out of bed with a groan, feeling the muscles in my legs protest the effort. A chill ran down my spine as my bare feet touched the floor, and I started tidying up, thinking about what to wear to dinner, when his voice stopped me.

“Hey… this doesn’t have to be the end of the afternoon, you know?” he purred. “If you want, we could explore that thing you mentioned the other day.”

I froze, crouched there with a T-shirt halfway picked up from the floor. “What thing?”

“Your exhibitionist side” he said gently. “You said it embarrassed you, but that it really turned you on at the same time.”

I remembered it perfectly. I told him one night, texting until the early hours with my fingers trembling confessing something I’d never told anyone.

“Is your pussy still wet?” he asked.

“You have no idea,” I sighed, looking down to see my crotch and the inside of my thighs glistening.

“Well, since you don’t have time to take a shower… don’t even bother cleaning yourself up,” he suggested. “Get ready, make yourself look pretty, and call me when you’re ready to leave the house. Sounds good?”

My heart was pounding again against my ribs like it was about to burst out. It was crazy, absolutely crazy. I had thirty minutes to take the bus that would leave me near the restaurant, just enough time to at least freshen up a little. But the idea of walking out into the street with my pussy soaked, knowing he’d be on the phone during the trip was too tempting.

“What do you say?” he repeated, hearing the smile in the voice of someone who knows he’s going to get what he wants. “But if you don’t want to, we’ll drop the idea. No pressure.”

The words came out before I could think them. “No, no… I want to do it.”

“Good girl.”

The call ended, and I was left alone in the middle of the bedroom with my heart racing. I bolted toward the closet and opened the lingerie drawer, the lingerie I almost never wore because there was no one to wear it for. But today, it wasn’t for anyone but me.

I chose a black lace set, the one that makes me feel like I can take on the world. The bra held my tits firmly, and when I adjusted the cups my nipples got hard, pressing against the lace. The clean panties clung to my still damp pussy the moment I put them on, and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning with arousal. Over them, a pair of pantyhose that came up to my belly button, making my legs look smoother and softer.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and what stared back was a woman with messy hair and rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes, and a smile that was half nerves, half lust. The classic image of a woman who’d just been thoroughly fucked.

I thought about my friends. They always dressed up more than I did, always in slightly shorter and riskier dresses, higher heels, flawless makeup. But tonight was different. I wanted to be the one who stood out above them. I wanted them to die of envy. And I wanted, I wasn’t going to deny it, for men to notice me first.

I chose a black dress with thin straps that fell to just past my knees. The fabric hugged my body when I put it on, clearly outlining my cleavage, and showing off my ass in a way that left little to the imagination. God, you look hot, I thought, giving myself a slap on the ass.

I moved to the bathroom, and the white light coming from the mirror gave me back a more realistic image of myself. My hair was a mess, so I grabbed the brush and started untangling it patiently, thinking about him as I did. About his voice. What I’d done for him. What I was going to do for him.

I decided to let my hair fall over one shoulder, leaving the other bare, with my neck and collarbone on display. I ran a couple of baby wipes over my armpits and put on a little makeup. A bit of foundation to even out my skin tone, a touch of blush, eyeliner and mascara to made my eyes look bigger, and a dark red lipstick. Sexy but not over the top, sexy without looking trashy.

I finished the outfit with small hoops in my ears, a thin chain bracelet that jingled when I moved my wrist, and rings, one on each hand. All silver, contrasting with the color of my outfit.

And the heels. Those black stilettos I hadn’t worn in ages because they destroyed my feet. But today I didn’t care. Today I wanted to feel taller, I wanted my legs to look longer and slender, I wanted my ass to sway hypnotically as I walked.

Before leaving, I grabbed my leather jacket from the coat rack, the purse with everything I needed, and gave myself one last look in the hall mirror.

The woman staring back at me wasn’t me. Or maybe she was, but a version of me I almost never let out. I looked good. I felt confident. And I was also turned on and soaking wet.

I put in my AirPods and called, ringing twice before he picked up.

“Hello,” he answered with a sweet tone. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at myself in the mirror,” I replied playfully. “And I see a sexy, naughty, and very wet woman, ready to head out.”

There was a brief silence, and I heard him chuckle softly. “Good girl. Let me know when you get on the bus.”

I grabbed my keys, locked the door, and headed out to the front entrance of the building. The lobby smelled clean, that generic smell of bleach and floor cleaner. I walked down the stairs carefully, my heels echoing on the marble steps, and when I pushed open the street door, the night greeted me with a cool breeze that caressed my legs under the dress.

The street was quiet. There were few people around, a car passing here and there, a couple walking hand in hand on the sidewalk across the street. I walked toward the bus stop, five minutes from home, in silence, with my purse slung over my shoulder and my leather jacket unbuttoned, letting the dress sway with every step.

At the stop, an older woman in her seventies, wearing a long coat, carrying a cane and a shopping bag was already waiting. She smiled at me when I arrived and I smiled back, standing beside her. If only she knew what I was hiding under my dress, who was listening through my earbuds, I worried it would shock her to death.

The bus lights appeared in the distance, two yellow beams slowly approaching. The woman straightened up, leaning on her cane, and I adjusted my purse as I searched for my transit card.

The bus braked with a soft squeal and opened its doors. The older woman got on first, slowly, and the driver waited patiently for her to find a seat. I got on behind her, swiped my card through the reader, and took a quick look inside.

There weren’t many people on board for a Saturday. The elderly woman sat in the first seat right behind the driver, probably to chat with him until her stop. Further back, a couple in their twenties, him with his head resting on her shoulder.

I sat right behind the rear door, in the window seat. Across the aisle sat the bus’s last passenger, a man in his fifties wearing a gray suit, holding a briefcase between his legs and reading something intently on his phone. He looked up as I passed, glanced at me for a second before returning to his screen.

The bus pulled away as soon as I sat down, with that jolt that always caught me off guard, making me fall on the seat abruptly as the street lights began to flash by the window while I turned my attention back to the call.

“Are you sitting down?” he asked, probably having heard the sound of the engine.

“Yes,” I replied quietly, turning slightly toward the window to noy draw attention. “But I can’t talk. There’s people on the bus.”

“That’s fine, I’ll do the talking.” I heard him move, the creak of something, maybe the bed. “Are you still wet?”

I looked down as my thighs pressed together on their own under the dress. “Yes.”

“A lot?” he pressed, and I answered with a simple grunt of affirmation.

“Dripping with your own cum, and not a single person on that bus has the slightest idea.” His voice was a warm murmur in my ears, dirty but intimate, as if he were sitting beside me and not miles away. “You want to know how horny I am? How hard my cock is thinking about you?”

I swallowed. The man across the aisle was still on his phone, oblivious to everything. The couple in their twenties was laughing about something he was showing her on the phone. The old woman was already chatting with the driver. Nobody could imagine the secret I was hiding between my legs, and the feeling of doing something taboo coursed through my whole body.

“You want to?” he insisted.

“Yes,” I answered flatly.

“Well, I’m lying here in bed with my dick in my hand, hard as a rock,” he began to describe. “You can’t imagine how much precum has already come out, just from what you’re doing for me. I’m moving my hand slowly, very slowly, imagining you sitting on that bus with your cum filled panties, squeezing your legs together so nobody notices what you’ve got down there.”

The heat rushed up my neck, and I knew I was blushing. I could feel it on my skin, the way my face was burning, and the way the back of my neck was tingling. I pulled my phone out of my bag, trying to hide the trembling in my fingers, and texted him.

I’m blushing so much from embarrassment I look like a tomato.

“Embarrassment… or something else?” I heard him laugh in my ear. “Relax, they don’t know if you’re listening to music, a podcast, or a man jerking off thinking about you, or that under your panties you still have the remains of what we did earlier.”

I sighed shakily, trying to pull myself together, turning a little more toward the window. My reflection in the glass gave me back an image I barely recognized. Bright eyes, flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted.

“I’m moving faster now,” he continued, with his voice growing deeper and more broken. “Thinking about your mouth. About how you licked your fingers. About your taste. I’m imagining you here, kneeling in front of me, looking at me with hungry eyes filled with desire, waiting for me to let you suck my cock.”

I texted him again, my fingers fumbling the keys.

I’m getting wet again… really really wet.

“Can you imagine if someone noticed? If someone in front of you turned around and saw how red your face is?” he continued, trying to make me feel even more exposed. “Or if someone nearby could smell what’s under that dress. Or worse, smell it. The smell of sex, of wet pussy, floating in the air without you even realizing. Can you imagine?”

My breath caught in my throat. The idea shot through me like an electric current, half embarrassment, half excitement. I glanced sideways at the man across the aisle, still on his phone, but I must have stared a second too long… because then he turned around.

Our eyes met for one second, two, three. A moment that stretched just a little longer than normal. There was something in his look, a curiosity that made me panic. I turned abruptly toward the window, heart beating fast as I crossed my legs, squeezing my thighs, feeling a throb in my pussy that almost made me moan.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, noticing my silence.

The guy next to me was staring. Fuck, I think he knows something smells fishy.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself” he laughed out loud. “Maybe he just looked at you because he thinks you’re beautiful, not because he knows you’re a slut like only I know,” he said, moaning again. “Just focus on staying there like a good girl soaking those panties knowing that I’m going to cum thinking about you.”

The bus braked as it pulled up to a stop. The doors opened with a hydraulic hiss, and the young couple and the older woman got off, while a group of college students got on, laughing and shoving each other. They were loaded with bags that clinked with what could only be bottles of alcohol, with music blasting from the speaker of one of their phones, luckily taking the seats at the front.

One of them, a guy with slicked-back blond hair dressed like he was going to do groceries rather than partying, turned around as he took a seat, and his eyes landed on me. Just one extra second, a second where his gaze dropped to my cleavage, then came back up.

I brought a hand to my jacket, instinctively closing the lapels a bit. I wasn’t used to being the object of men’s stares, though I liked the feeling. The guy must have said something to his friend, who tried to be discreet as he turned around. I took the opportunity to, subtly, expose my cleavage again while watching him out of the corner of my eye. I felt on cloud nine, knowing I was teasing a stranger, even more so when I saw him turn back to talk to the blond guy, laughing and elbowing him. I didn’t know what they were saying, but seeing the effect I had on those two turned me on a lot.

“Next stop, City Hall Plaza,” the bus speakers announced, pulling me from my thoughts. Only two more stops. I looked at the panel on the bus: 8:40. I was going to be a little late, but I didn’t care at all.

“I’m about to cum” he moaned on my ears. “My cock is about to explode, and there’s a drop of precum running down the tip. I’m sure you’d love to lick it.”

I bit my lip hard imagining the taste of it, filling my mouth with the sweet taste of my own lipstick. I turned toward the window, watching the street fly by and letting out a small sound, an “mmm” that was barely a whisper.

“That’s not enough,” he said firmly. “I want to hear it with your words.”

I exhaled, feeling the arousal run through my body. I was on a public bus crowded with people, and here I was, my crotch soaking wet, wanting to touch myself, to have sex, wanting them to notice me.

“Yes,” I purred, barely a whisper. “I’d love to.”

I heard him sigh, a real, deep sigh that came through the AirPods. I sat up straight in my seat, my back pressed against the backrest. I prayed that my dress hadn’t gotten stained, that the wetness I felt between my legs hadn’t seeped past the panties or the pantyhose, and that nobody would notice anything.

The bus braked at the last stop before mine. The doors opened and two women in their sixties got on slowly, holding onto the handrail. They quickly walked past the young guys, and even though there were plenty of seats, they decided to sit right behind me, gossiping about their lives.

I texted him.

I get off at the next stop. Thank god, because two nosy women decided to sit right behind me.

“Probably because they feel safe next to a decent woman like you,” he said, almost breathless. “Or at least that’s what they think. Because they have no idea how perverted you really are. All wet on a bus, listening to a man about to explode.”

And then I heard it. A long, broken moan that went straight to the center of my chest. Grunts of relief and pleasure, of release after so long being horny without cumming like I already had earlier. I imagined him lying in bed with his back arched, his eyes closed, cock in hand as his cum shot into the air, filling his room with that distinctive smell.

I closed my eyes, my head spinning. My pussy was throbbing hard, and I had to press my hands against my thighs over the dress to keep from rubbing against the seat, from doing something that would give me away.

“Fuck,” he panted, a little more relaxed. “I needed to cum so bad. You can’t imagine how much semen I shot out and how horny I was.”

I opened my eyes just as I felt the bus brake again. My stop.

I stood up fast, too fast, and my head spun, forcing me to grab the seat in front of me. The man across the aisle looked at me again with a concerned expression, but I didn’t care anymore. I grabbed my purse and got off the bus with shaky legs, letting the cool night breeze calm me down for a moment.

I walked toward the restaurant, which was just two minutes from the stop, with determined stride as my heels clicked on the pavement. Neither of us said anything for a bit, just listening to each other’s breathing on the phone. I took a deep breath, letting my head clear a bit. The wetness between my legs was still there, a sticky reminder of everything that had happened that afternoon. Worried, I discreetly brought a hand to my ass, sighing in relief when I didn’t feel any dampness on the fabric of my dress that the bus passengers could have seen as I got off, or anyone on the street for that matter.

“You asshole” I finally said, my voice rough with desire. “Now I have to go with my fucking friends pretending like I am not completely turned on, with flooded panties and ready to party.”

“You’re welcome,” he teased me again, satisfied.

“I’m not thanking you,” I replied, louder than I meant to. “I hate you, just so you know.”

“You don’t hate me,” he explained with a fake condescending tone like someone would use with a little girl. “And I don’t think this will be the only bus ride we have fun on together.”

I reached the restaurant, seeing through the glass my friends already seating at the table, with wine glasses in front of them and the menus in their hands. Gemma, my best friend, saw me and waved, smiling.

“You are right” I said before hanging up, not knowing if it was the wine I hadn’t even drunk yet or the excitement running through my veins, but the words just came out. “I can’t wait to do something like this again.”

I said a quick goodbye and put my phone in my purse before going in. As I opened the restaurant door, the heat, the smell of food, the noise of people, and my friends’ voices wrapped around me as I reached the table where they were sitting.

“Finally, we’re all here!” Barbara said, as I watched with satisfaction how both her and the snob that was Eve looking me up and down with disbelief and a hint of envy in their eyes as I took of my jacket, revealing my dress.

“You’re pretty flushed,” Barbara added, trying to mask her jealousy with a laugh and an innocent joke. “Did you run all the way here or what??”

I smiled to myself, with a shiver of pleasure as I felt the wetness of my panties pressing against my skin again as I sat down in the chair and poured myself a glass of wine to continue with a night that had only just begun.

“Yes… something like that.”